Next
by Batteredpen
Summary: Post 10.6. Harry has returned to the Grid trying to cope with the death of Ruth. Then his personal life again intrudes ...can he cope with yet more potential loss? H/R shippers don't hate me. Should have added Kudos has the character copyright.
1. Chapter 1

_11.30pm On the Grid_

The shrill insistent ringing of the phone finally penetrated his eardrums. Shaking his head slowly to clear the stupefying effects of an overlarge tumbler of whisky Harry reached across the desk, grabbed the receiver, scattering the documents he'd been dozing over, and growled his name.

"Good evening Sir, I wasn't sure if you'd still be here. We've had call from Special Branch,..." The voice hesitated as if the speaker was considering what to say next.

Harry glanced at his watch. Its dial told him it was close to midnight. Even for him this was late, although since Ruth's death a few months previously he was spending more time in his office than in his home. The voice seemed to have retreated into silence. Never the most patient of men, at this time of night Harry's reserves of tolerance were dangerously depleted. Gripping the receiver he barked, "Well, what is it... and why hasn't this, whatever it is, been passed to the Duty Officer?"

His outburst seemed to have the effect of strengthening the resolution of the person on the other end of the line. "Sorry Sir"; came the apologetic reply: "But... I am the Duty Officer. Special Branch has informed us that a property on the MI5 relatives list has been subject to a possible bomb attack'. After a brief pause the voice continued: 'The name of the occupant is given as Catherine Townsend with a notification that any unusual activity should be reported to yourself."

This time is was Harry's turn to remain silent as various scenarios, none of them happy**, **streamed through his mind. Either unnerved or just possibly encouraged by the lack of reaction the officer added in an explanatory tone "I tried to contact you at your home first and then your club but then..." seemingly confused by the lack of response the speaker tailed off before adding hesitantly, "...well Sir, I'm sorry for the delay but ..."

"Yes, yes, thanks." Harry finally managed to croak some words into the receiver "Anyone hurt?"

A faint rustle of paper drifted down the phone indicating that the Duty Officer was consulting his notes. Harry fought down the urge to bawl at him to hurry, recognising that this desire was fuelled by dread.

'_Please God No_' he thought numbly, _'Not again, not Catherine'_

Harry's nightmarish visions were interrupted by the voice of the Duty Officer saying in an unmistakably nervous tone: ..."Sorry Sir, but some of the information is unclear."

"Just give me what you have – NOW." Despite his struggle to remain calm Harry could feel his patience beginning to dissipate**.**

Recognising that the irascible Head of Section D was likely to descend from the Grid and personally shake the details out of him if he didn't hurry the voice quickly complied, quite obviously reading robotically from a sheet of notes.

"One explosion, cause unknown, about two hours ago, damage to front door and windows blown into street, one female believed to be occupant of the property caught in the blast. Female was outside at the time, injured, extent unknown, taken to hospital. Due to possible bomb blast Special Branch attended** ... **Er... will there be anything further Sir?"

"Yes," Harry snapped "I want to know which hospital my dau. ... the victim has been taken to, organise me with either a driver or a taxi, whichever is quickest and then contact those at the scene to say that an MI5 officer will be attending."

He threw the handset back onto its cradle and quickly gathered together the papers he'd knocked onto the floor of his office when he'd been startled by the trill of the phone. The documents related to the long delayed the report he was writing on the subject of inter-agency cooperation. No one had explained to Harry exactly what the various intelligence bodies were supposed to be co-operating against**. **In his more cynical moments he reflected that he was being invited to partake in an administrative version of sleeping with the enemy**. **Towers would, quite rightly, suspect that Harry was procrastinating and complain but Harry had scant respect for politicians, having once memorably described them as '_conniving, wheeler dealer scum bags_.' Even Harry, however, was forced to concede that as politicos went Towers was refreshingly, even uniquely, willing to admit that he didn't always have the answers** – **and it was largely thanks to his efforts and sympathy that Harry was still employed in Section D. Towers' words on Harry's shock announcement that he intended to return to work, when everyone had expected him to crawl away into retirement, had been uncharacteristically forthright**.**

"_I said that I would support you in whatever you wanted to do and I will –other considerations apart you are one of our most experienced people but I admit to being worried about this: in the last few months you've had to deal with the Albany fiasco, near rendition by the CIA, plus the circumstances surrounding the loss of Ruth Evershed. And you're refusing to consider a stay at Tring! Okay, but Harry, you do realise that everyone will be waiting for you to make an error? Can you really cope with that pressure in your mental state?" _

Towers hadn't been the only one to harbour doubts. Harry had noticed the hard stares, the slow pauses, the eggshell treading when he'd reappeared on the Grid. He had expected it: he hadn't been overly sure himself how long he could continue but he'd taken the on the doubters and ignored the undertow of gossip as he set about reinstating his reputation as the hard headed, unemotional boss of the Grid**. ** So what if he was working a sixteen to eighteen hour day and going home simply to shower, shave and occasionally sleep, that was his business and his alone. And if, in the late night privacy of his office, he was sinking overly generous measures of Scotch that too was his business.

Throwing the despised papers carelessly onto his desk, he stood up, fastened his top shirt button and straightened his tie. Pulling his jacket off the back of his chair he shrugged it on, grabbed his heavy outdoor coat from the metal stand in his office doorway and hurried across the darkened Grid towards the pods, pausing just for a moment to check that his id card was secure in his top pocket. He had a hunch that he might need to flash it around before the end of the evening.

As he strode out of the entrance lobby of Thames House the sudden transition from centrally heated building to biting cold made him gasp but cleared the lingering fug of whisky fumes from his brain. The Duty Officer had clearly taken his instructions to heart and a pool car was already waiting for Harry by the kerbside. Having given the direction to the driver Harry flopped into the back seat to consider his next move, pulling out his mobile his fingers hovered over the address book. _Which officer... either Erin or Dimitri would be the obvious choice...so Erin or Dimitri? _Erin had a young daughter and in an unspoken acknowledgement of the damage the job had created for his own family life Harry found himself trying to cut her some slack when possible. That left Dimitri**, **supposedly the Grid bomb expert. Dimitri then**... **if he was available. To Harry's surprise Dimitri picked up at once, although from the background noise, he was, Harry guessed, enjoying a convivial evening in a pub. If that was so Dimitri didn't let on as he said in a casual tone: "Hi Harry, at this time of night I assume that this isn't a social call. What can I do for you?"

"We've had a potential bomb explosion, one casualty probably the occupant, I'll text the address. Can you get round and see what the situation is? Low key but advise them that it may be a counter terrorism case. You know the form. "

"Sure – do we know anything about the occupant?"

Harry swallowed hard before saying in as collected a voice as he could manage "Yes – the occupant is called Catherine Townsend, and, " he added reluctantly, "she's my daughter. I'm on the way to the hospital now' a further deep breath before he added, "if I don't answer my phone leave a voicemail message. "

He noted the shocked pause before Dimtri replied tentatively: "Okay ... er do you want anyone to join you at the hospital?"

"Thanks but no." Harry appreciated the concern underlying the offer but declined. Unless necessity dictated he felt disinclined to expose his personal vulnerabilities to anyone in his team for a second time in months. Speeding in the car towards whatever awaited him at the hospital he recalled the last time Catherine had been involved in an operation, a thought that reminded him, as if he needed it, that all those who had been privy to that emotionally traumatic incident were no longer working in Section D: only eight years ago but it seemed a bygone age. Recently Harry had overheard a new, rookie officer describe him as '_the last of the dinosaurs'_. In truth these days he felt more like a very ancient schoolmaster; increasingly the young spooks were the same age or younger than his own children... perhaps he should have retired as everyone expected... Harry suppressed the memory of those three glorious minutes in which his heart had soared at the prospect. The vision of Ruth's smiling face swam before him. He shook himself back into the present not daring to dwell upon her dying image, '_Come on Pearce, firm up, don't wallow, who will that help?' _

By the time the car glided into the entrance of the A&E unit Harry had himself well in hand and no one noting the impassive set of his features, squared shoulders and resolute tread as he approached the glass panelled entry doors would have suspected his apprehension.

Most people thought of hospitals as places where you went to be cured – for Harry they were all too often morgues in waiting - and now his daughter, the sole member of his family with whom he was on speaking terms was lying somewhere in there, possibly dead or dying. Entering the building, he sniffed the distinctive hospital smell of disinfectant and sick, a scent that did nothing to lift his mood. Neither did the decor of the waiting area which had been painted a grim yellow, presumably in a misplaced attempt at cheerfulness. The space was filled with the usual variety of uncomfortable blue plastic seats, most of which were occupied by customers who were awaiting attention with varying degrees of impatience. Rising above the general clamour was the voice of a hysterical young mother whose child had apparently caught their finger badly in a car door, neatly slicing off part of the top. Harry felt a trickle of sympathy for her; he had some fairly grim memories of similar visits with Graham whose genius for falling out of trees and off bicycles had been the stuff of family legend. To her credit his ex-wife had never ever attempted to over compensate for the dangers of Harry's job by shielding their son from the normal accidents of exuberant boyhood. Pity they hadn't been so successful in keeping him away from drugs...thinking about Graham Harry felt yet again a familiar stinging sense of failure – successful spook maybe, a name to be reckoned with in the world of spies and double dealing but at what price? Those he should have protected had paid that: Ruth, Graham, Catherine, even Jane ...and at the end, after sacrificing those he had loved what exactly was _he_ left with?

These private and depressing musings were interrupted by a slight touch on his elbow. He whirled around. Standing beside him was a policeman constable whose evident youth again made him feel like the MI5 equivalent of Mr Chips. "Excuse me, but are you Sir Harry Pearce?" By way of answer Harry nodded at him before reaching into his jacket pocket and producing his ID. The youngster scanned the proffered card and then indicated a doorway at the end of the department. Harry headed towards it with the officer following close behind him. Once though the swing doors the constable spoke again: "Sorry Sir, we were notified that you were on your way but I did have to check. "

Harry unbent slightly, "No need to apologise, I understand - now where are we headed and what do you know?"

"Down this way Sir and as I came in with the victim I don't really know what caused the explosion."

The victim...Harry felt faintly sick and caught his breath before nerving himself to ask, "and the victim?"

"Amazing lucky from what the doctor has said – only minor injuries – ah here we are."

They had reached a series of doors each leading into what Harry assumed were small treatment rooms. The door behind which his daughter lay was easily identified by the presence of another, slightly older officer standing guard in front of it. Seeing Harry approach he moved towards him.

"Good evening Sir. I understand that you are related to the victim." At the second use of this impersonal description to describe his daughter Harry finally succumbed to the strain of the evening.

"For God's sake use her name– it's Catherine Townsend and she's not the victim... She's my daughter and I want to see her now!"

In his agitated state Harry entirely failed to register the puzzled expression that flickered across their faces. When the older officer spoke again it was in a professional, soothing voice clearly cultivated for these situations as he murmured: "I'm not sure that that is advisable Sir you see ..."

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Harry moved towards him "Er I wouldn't Sir." The younger policeman promptly shifted to block the doorway. He had height and youth on his side. Harry however had bulk, determination plus reflexes cultivated from years of field craft and a neat sweep to the ankles left the youth sprawling on the corridor floor. Stepping over the human obstruction Harry burst into the room to be met by the astounded stares of a doctor and a woman: not the tall, thirty something, blond he'd expected to see lying on the bed but instead a pale skinned woman of around his own age whose eyes wore an expression in which** c**ontempt and loathing were subtly combined.

"Wonky Intel as per usual Harry?" the woman stated in a mocking tone that could have been dredged from the depths of Antarctica. "And, yes I can see that you still have all your own teeth so kindly relocate your jaw northwards."

Wondering if the evening could possibly deliver any more shocks Harry managed to stop gaping and took her advice as he stammered a single sentence.

"J J Jane – what on earth are you doing here?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews. Now meet the ex wife**

_Hospital Midnight_

Jane's expression did not waver for an instant as she stared back at her ex-husband before continuing in the same biting tone.

"I would have thought that was obvious – I'm being patched up after being blasted by a faulty gas main into the centre of a London road. Surely the question is what the hell are you doing here?"

"And that," Harry retorted, as he recovered from the shock of seeing her lying where he'd expected to see his daughter,"should, I think, be equally obvious."

Jane's face clearly indicated that the reasons underpinning Harry's unwelcome presence were obscure as opposed to obvious. Before Harry could attempt to enlighten her he was interrupted by the entrance of the policemen he had unceremoniously assaulted in his anxiety to see his daughter. To Harry's experienced eye the body language of the disaffected duo indicated that their desire to take a punitive revenge was severely constrained by the political inadvisability of handcuffing a senior MI5 officer, particularly one with a title. The constable Harry had sent crashing to the ground had acquired a limp and was keeping his distance while regarding his assailant with an understandable apprehension. The older officer, in an attempt to reclaim some grip on events, made an effort to apologise for Harry's intrusion.

"Sorry doctor but he just burst in. Do you want us to remove him?"

Both Harry and the doctor were relieved from the responsibility of replying to this query when a voice from the bed shouted in exasperation: "I thought I'd got rid of him years ago but he's like a boomerang ... keeps coming back even when you don't want him so you've no chance of succeeding – nor are these circumstances under which I want strange men in my room, so GET OUT ..AND THAT INCLUDES YOU HARRY."

Despite the grimness of the situation Harry felt a mild frisson of amusement, twinned with the thought that as Jane's tongue was apparently in fine and feisty form the damage to her body couldn't be too extreme.

Routed the policemen vanished outside the door. Harry remained. The doctor, whose air of confusion was palpable, enquired curiously "So, who are you? – Really we should only allow family in."

"Ex husband, the name's Pearce and before you ask I was contacted as next of kin."

Jane's open mouthed stare of astonishment as Harry uttered this bare faced lie was unmistakable. Fortunately the doctor was still looking towards Harry as he pondered how to handle what was clearly a delicate situation before finally saying "Well Mr Pearce I've nearly finished treating the patient but I'm waiting for some test results. Could I ask you to wait outside?" Harry glanced at Jane whose bitten lip and silence implied that she was, for some reason, prepared to let his fiction stand. Deciding not to push his luck Harry continued to address himself to the doctor. "I'll leave for now but I will need to talk to you later."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the ring tone of Harry's phone. Aware that he was breaking hospital regulations Harry glanced at the caller display. The call was from Dimitri: "Sorry Doctor, but I do have to take this – is it okay if I do so outside?"

Taking silence for assent Harry departed towards the corridor although not before turning to Jane: "Don't run away, I look forward to continuing our conversation."

He hurried out of the room before he could decode her spluttered reply.

Once on the other side of the door Harry pressed to take the call as private thoughts haunted him: '_Please God let Jane be right, ... let it have been a gas explosion.'_

Dimitri's voice was clear but cagey, from which Harry deduced he was trying to avoid being overheard and not certain of his success.

"It's rather strange Harry – the front door etc went up with a bomb but the rest of the flat is untouched. Special Branch have sealed the place and a forensic team are working on it. They should have a preliminary picture by the morning. I've told them we'll need to know asap to judge whether we get involved. I hope that was okay."

"Thanks. Tell me – was anyone in the property?"

"No – how's your daughter, not badly injured I hope?"

"That's just it – the woman who was brought in wasn't my daughter –it was her mother."

It took a couple of seconds before the point registered with Dimtri. He choked audibly before asking: "So what was she doing there and where is ...?"

"Catherine – exactly. I've not had a chance to talk to Jane yet, I've no idea what she's doing here."

Harry reflected, as he uttered this statement, that he and Jane hadn't actually talked to one another for years**,** shouted yes, corresponded via their respective solicitors yes, but talked, no. The last time they'd set eyes on each other had been at the funeral of mutual friend about three years ago – On that sombre occasion Harry had endured several barbs from Jane about his knighthood – finally goaded he'd commented that, _'even staying married to me wouldn't have turned you into a lady'_ before walking away. So how on earth he was going to persuade the woman who'd regarded him with such unremitting hostility for a quarter of century to talk to him? His own words to Towers a few months ago echoed around his brain '_I'm an intelligence officer, not a diplomat'_ If ever he needed diplomacy it was now: somehow he was going to have to negotiate his way through his own, his very own personal Cold War, without even the vaguest of clues as to how to begin.

"Okay Dimitri go home, we'll talk tomorrow – if I'm not in first thing get Calum to run the CCTV checks plus all the usual Intel and make sure that you tell the plods not to remove anything."

Harry switched off his phone and re entered the ward adopting a breezily confident manner that he trusted would disguise his worry that Jane had, in his absence, seen fit to enlighten the doctor as to the true nature of their acrimonious relationship.

"Well, how is the patient?" The doctor seemed uncertain as to how to respond to this enquiry but was rescued by Jane snorting, "You might as well tell him, he'll find out anyway."

As she said it Harry gave a small nod towards the bemused medic standing by her bedside hoping that she would remember that the dissolution of their marriage had not negated her signature on the Official Secrets Act. Thankfully Jane took the hint and shut up, although the fact that the doctor had simultaneously taken the opportunity to stab her with an injection may have helped. Harry noticed her grimace of pain and took advantage of the pause in hostilities to view her injuries. The merciless glare of the ward lights revealed that the entire left side of her body seemed to be grazed with sundry cuts. He couldn't tell the exact extent of the damage but noticed that her left ankle was strapped up while her face bore signs of bruising. She was dressed in the usual thin, flowery hospital gown, whose claim to sartorial elegance was limited to providing an adequate, if skimpy, covering for her body. From the pile of tattered clothes lying in the corner of the room Harry concluded that Jane's claim to have been splattered over the road was not an exaggeration. Personal experience told him that next few days would be achingly painful for her: a situation that was not likely to improve her reaction towards the world in general and Harry in particular.

Having been given Jane's grudging permission the doctor proceeded to outline the condition of his patient, "Right Mr Pearce, that was the anti tetanus, just a precaution, sundry cuts, two cracked ribs, a couple of deeper cuts to the left shoulder that we've stitched and dressed, obviously bruising to come out, badly sprained ankle and possible concussion. Also ringing in the ears from the explosion, probably temporary ... Not much medication required other than painkillers. We could discharge her if she has anywhere to stay but she shouldn't be on her own for the next few days, especially since she's not sure if she lost consciousness when she hit the pavement and was a little disorientated when she came in."

"No problem, I'll sort out somewhere for her to stay. Could you give us a few minutes please? "

A cry of indignation rang across the room, "What can I have to say to you of all people?"

Ignoring her protest Harry again asked the increasingly puzzled doctor, "Please?"

The doctor, while not accustomed to being overawed within his own department, succumbed to Harry's natural air of authority and withdrew on the excuse of sorting Jane's medication. Once Harry knew that no one was in earshot he collapsed into the uncomfortable hospital chair by the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Wearily he set about the task of trying to placate the woman who lay there glaring at him as if he was something particularly unpleasant on her shoe. His best policy, he decided, would be to employ a limited honesty. Nerving himself to the effort he spoke to her quietly but firmly.

"Jane, let me sort you out with a safe house to stay in."

"Where did you have in mind?"

With a quick breath and prayer Harry said, "My place."

"Your place – you ARE joking! Have you possibly forgotten that when we did share a house we argued like two cats in the sack?"

"Jane, I know that given the choice between residing in house harbouring the Black Death and one harbouring me you'd probably opt for the former and I wouldn't blame you."

"Huh that's good of you."

Harry continued as if she hadn't interrupted although he raised his voice slightly, "...but do be sensible – what sort of hotel can you check into at this time of night?" As the resistance in her eyes began to fade Harry utilised the skills that had made him one of the most effective interrogators in the service to press his advantage, "You heard the doctor, you may have after effects, I can at least offer you a comfortable bed and warm shower, so please."

"Pity you hadn't been so concerned twenty five years ago."

Harry was tempted to abandon tact and shout but with a patience that would have astonished his subordinates on the Grid continued to speak in a quiet but insistent voice, "Give it a rest Jane –At present I have two priorities, one is to get you somewhere that is comfortable – no don't lie and tell me you're okay because I can see the state you're in and I've been injured often enough to know you feel like shit.. I also know that making peace is impossible but...," pausing for a moment, "we really do need to call a truce..." Before he could explain further Jane cut across his speech to ask sardonically: "And the other reason... the one that makes it so important that we call a truce?"

No help for it. Harry said as gently as he could:"'Jane – the reason I'm here is because I was contacted about the explosion at work ... as a work related matter.."

Jane stared at him. "Oh God... do you mean ...but Harry it was a gas explosion wasn't it?"

Harry looked at the fear in her face and simply answered, "No."

While the shock was still fresh he added, "and here is not the place to talk about it– but if you need to be defended by a man with a gun I'd rather not delegate the task to anyone else."

"I thought you'd become a - what did you used to call it – a desk spook not a field officer?"

Harry felt disinclined to explain exactly why he'd recently taken to sleeping with a gun nearby and limited himself to saying: "Call it a home safety precaution," with the sound of the doctor returning he added, "discussion later."

Jane shot him a look of deep resentment: one that implied that she recognised that she had been out manoeuvred and cornered**. **It was an expression that also stated that she was very far from reconciled to the situation despite her lack of a practical alternative. Hoping to convey her annoyance she snapped: "Okay then but don't get any ideas about being touchy feely. In any sense of the phrase."

Harry raised an eyebrow before replying in the sarcastic tone she recalled from times past, "I'll manage to restrain myself – somehow."

As the doctor entered he handed Harry the medication and then made to help Jane off the bed. The hospital gown nearly fell off her as it parted at the back revealing a display of bruised thighs, bare flesh and knickers. Noticing Jane cringe with sudden embarrassment Harry shoved the package into his trouser pocket and grabbed the shredded clothes lying in the corner. The garments were not only tattered, they were also covered with grime and embedded with grit, some of which showered onto the floor as he shook the offending fabric. Harry reckoned that he'd seen less ragged items on vagrants. _Oh well..._Wordlessly he stripped off his jacket and tie and then, to Jane's evident confusion, began unbuttoning his shirt. Handing it over to her he smiled wryly, "Sorry, I've been wearing it all day, but at least it fastens."

Jane shot him a glance that might just possibly have resembled gratitude before commenting, "Not my best look – shirt and trainers."

"Yes, well jacket over vest isn't mine –Put this on while I see about some transport."

Harry strolled outside to dial up a driver. When he'd finished he spoke to the policemen. "This operation is now going to be regarded as an MI5 matter. I'm taking the witness to a safe house. You can go as soon as my car arrives." Watching the young policeman wince as he rubbed his injured leg Harry added as an afterthought, 'And constable can I suggest you brush up on your self defence techniques? If an overweight, out of practice, elderly MI5 officer with a dodgy knee can fell you I wouldn't fancy your chances against an inner city yob."

Returning into the ward Harry looked at Jane critically. His shirt just about skimmed her backside and upper thighs, as a covering it was a minimal improvement on the hospital's offering, but still revealed an excessive length of leg. While Harry noted automatically that Jane's limbs were as shapely as he remembered he also knew that under the current circumstances she'd cavil at making a public display of them.

"Here," he said holding out his top coat. "I could put it on the floor for you to walk over but I think you'd do better to wear it– we don't want the police outside arresting you for indecent exposure."

Jane made no attempt to take it. Looking at her Harry realised that her earlier bravado was fast fading into a confused exhaustion. He understood so moving towards her he shook out the coat and held it while she shrugged herself into it. The contact of the heavy material with the various injuries on the damaged left side of her body brought forth a groan. Before she could attempt to fasten the front Harry stayed her hand; "Let me, the less you move that arm the better." Avoiding eye contact or any other gesture that could conceivably be misinterpreted he carefully fastened the buttons.

"Okay, you now look respectable so let's go." Pausing just long enough to thank the doctor Harry gently took Jane's elbow as he prepared to steer her out of the room on the first stage of their journey to his home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews as I know that Harry without Ruth in his life is not a popular premise. I think this chapter could best be described as Harry and Jane take stock. **

_Car Journey 1.30 am_

Under normal circumstance being chauffeur driven in a luxurious car with soft leather seats and plentiful leg room would have made Jane feel extraordinarily pampered, but these were not normal circumstances. Instead she felt extremely uneasy, courtesy of her close proximity to Harry. Part of her discomfort was due to the various aches emanating from her injuries, combined with the reflection that her current garb was distinctly undignified for a woman in her late fifties. The hem from Harry's shirt pressed across her thighs reminding her vividly of the draughts associated with her mini skirted youth. The very wearing of the shirt and coat, both permeated with Harry's smell, gave her a sense, in her own mind at least, of being branded. The limping gait, which had forced her to lean heavily upon his arm during their passage through the A & E unit, had simply reinforced her sense of being reduced to the status of a puppet. A high level of self consciousness had made her acutely aware of the curious stares from the remaining patients as she and Harry had trudged towards the exit. Harry, of course, had just treated the glances their bizarre dress had earned them with a disinterest bordering upon disdain**. ** Jane envied him his indifference, for her part she had been relieved to enter the sanctuary of the waiting car. But now that she was being driven at considerable speed to the home of the man she'd avoided for years, and whose profession may well have been the reason for her recent shattering acquaintance with the London pavement, she was beginning to wish she'd said no to Harry's offer.

The greater part of her discomfort though was mental: What had she been thinking of? It was twenty five years since she'd instigated their very unfriendly divorce when she had eventually found herself unable to cope any longer with his lies, secrets and affairs, in fact the entire package of deception and manipulation that had become their marriage. She vividly recalled that final bitter argument: the one that had ultimately forced her into action. '_Jane this assignment is vital, regnum defende at all costs_'. She could still hear her own voice screeching back in anger, '_Well fine, defend the bloody realm if you must, but pay the costs yourself because I can't any longer_'. And now, after all those years, he had had the gall to stroll into her hospital ward and immediately coerce her into following his wishes. Even more irritating was the knowledge that she'd hardly put up an argument. Why hadn't she denounced his lie to the doctor? She'd identified Harry's raised voice outside the ward the instant he spoke: only his tones possessed that particular combination of authority and precision. She could have taken that microsecond of advantage to have him thrown out when he burst into her room but instead had opted to remain silent. She was still wondering at her folly when, almost as if he'd read her mind, Harry, having checked his phone for missed calls and texts, chose this moment to speak.

"Thanks for not giving me away."

"I can't work out why I didn't for the life of me." In a further attempt at conversation she added "and I'm an English teacher, I'm supposed specialise in analysis of character and motive."

She had thought to lighten the awkwardness of the situation with this last comment but instead of the repost she'd expected a stricken expression flickered across Harry's face. So quickly did it pass over his features she wondered if she'd actually seen it or if it was just an uncertainty created by the dim light that gave the illusion that he'd been momentarily paralysed by her innocent remark. Whether this was a figment of her imagination remained unclear as she continued hastily, hoping that he would assuage her curiosity,

"I'd assumed that Catherine had contacted you, clearly I was wrong."

The answer she sought didn't arrive, instead a growing silence thickened into a tangible barrier between them. Gazing at Harry through the gloom Jane felt a strange sense of displacement– the Harry she had know in his early thirties was still traceable but had morphed into the features of the man who sat beside her.. who was he now, this familiar stranger?... For a few moments in the hospital she could almost have believed he cared... but how many times in the past had she fallen for that one, '_It was necessary for the operation but of course you come first' _.._'Jane I'm really sorry I didn't make it – I hope you got the chocolates I sent_' .._'Honestly Jane Juliet is just my boss..._' Time and again she'd forgiven him only to be let down... yet he looked so careworn, the arrogance that had so often made her want to hit him was still in evidence but some how the brashness that had been its twin seemed to have faded...toll of time perhaps... but...did leopards and aging spies really change their spots?

Harry had finally forced himself into a reply: "It's true that I was contacted as a work matter - but only because I had her address on an MI5 watch list."

"So you think our daughter is a traitor! You bastard!"

"For God's sake of course not –but .. I want to make sure she's safe..."

"You'll be telling me next my address and Graham's are on your precious list."

"Not Graham's, I don't have any contact - barring his last message via Catherine, the gist of which was that I could go and make love to myself– I don't know his address."

Jane noted the omission which instantly ignited her suppressed resentment as she flared: "Oh God – how dare you have us watched! As if you hadn't done enough to damage our lives..."

The strain of the evening was beginning to tell on Harry so it was with some exasperation that he snapped back, "Which is precisely why I have you on a watch list - and no it's not spying on your every movement, it's simply a note that if anything unusual happens I'm contacted. After the mistakes I've made the least I can do is to try and provide some minimal protection for my family."

Jane was about expostulate again along that lines that Harry's concern was a little late in the day and that she'd ceased to be a member of his family years ago, but she was pulled up short by the recognition that however remiss Harry might have been in the realms of emotional support he had never stinted either herself or the children in material comforts and he had, at considerable personal risk, extracted their daughter from more than one dangerous enterprise. Instead she said with a reluctant sigh, "I suppose the real reason I agreed to come was because I knew that you were right – I couldn't check into a hotel in this state ...and I need to know why our daughter's flat was bombed."

Harry give a wry smile before he replied, "This must be about the first time in thirty years we've had a thought in common."

"And your ulterior motive for taking me home tonight?"

"Isn't simple concern enough?"

"Harry – you've always had a hidden agenda – you simply can't help yourself. It's as if you have a disease called spy fever."

"Please believe that I would have made the offer had it been a gas explosion but ...yes you are probably going to be part of an official MI5 investigation."

As he finished speaking Harry reminded himself that whatever her other deficiencies Jane was no fool and he'd have to work hard to gain any trust from her. After all, he reflected, he'd done little in their marriage to earn it, beginning on their wedding day when, after he'd lied about his profession, he broke the news on their honeymoon; '_Er Jane I need to talk to you about my job, you know I said I'd left the army and was working as a civil servant..._'. Casting a wary eye over her he had to admit that in physical appearance she'd worn a great deal better than he had over the years. Beautiful when they'd married she was still slim, her face relatively unlined and her skin remained pale from type rather than ill health. The shadow of the girl he'd taken to the altar was still visible: _God they'd both been so young, so naive_...and he'd neglected her time after time ...cheated on her shamelessly. Perhaps he hadn't deserved that second chance, maybe Ruth's dying words had been true after all. Fortunately before he could relive yet again the never ending agony of that sunny day by the Thames estuary he was drawn back into the equally painful present as the car drew to a halt outside his house.

Once more Harry called upon his reserves of stoicism as he exited from the vehicle, walked round to the kerbside door and unstrapped the woman who had to be focus of his current attention. Helping Jane to balance on the pavement he concentrated on the mundane, "Come on Jane your bath and bed await."

**Next up Harry and Jane under the same roof!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Quick update. Possibly this should be subtitled Jane keeps putting her foot in it. **

_Harry's House 2.00 am_

Once through the front door Harry carefully ushered Jane into his sitting room. After the darkness of the car journey she jumped, startled by the sudden wash of electric light. While Harry busied himself setting the security code and checking the answering machine she took the opportunity to survey her surroundings for lifestyle clues. Tidy she would have expected, Harry's time in the military had engrained orderly habits. She'd complained about many things during their marriage but having to play the role of 'Dirty Sock Fairy' hadn't been one of them. A sofa and chairs that invited you to sink into them plus an expensive sound system suggested that this was a room for relaxing although the fine film of dust that was discernible over the shiner surfaces implied that the occupant was rarely home to indulge in such frivolous activity. '_Still a workaholic so no change there then.'_ Judging by the placement of a whisky decanter and crystal glasses on a small table in direct eye line to the door Harry's habit of grabbing a drink the minute he came in from a hard day hadn't altered either. '_What about women_?' Catherine hadn't mentioned anything but then no one knew better than Jane how just secretive Harry could be, and during their marriage he'd certainly had plenty to be secret about. Nothing in the decor hinted at a regular relationship but Harry's penchant for casual shags had usually involved hotel rooms and fake id's. If he'd been hopeless at monogamy it was a fair bet that he was even more useless at celibacy.

Her reverie was interrupted by Harry's reappearance reminding her that really his private life was none of her business, she was here by mischance and wouldn't relish him trespassing into her secret territory, especially not...**.**_well he'd just mock or even worse sympathise. _As Harry crossed the room to draw the curtains she realised that she was still rooted to the spot he'd left her in a few moments before. The sight his suit/vest combo stirred Jane into action. As she moved her arm to unbutton his coat she felt a sharp pain stabbing through her shoulder and gripped her lip to avoid crying out**. **Harry must have noted the movement from the corner of his eye and he swirled around. Watching her struggle he said, "Here you really don't want to strain that shoulder." Without waiting for her to reply he moved in front of her and swiftly unfastened the coat, pulling it gently down her arms. Despite the central heating the cold air hitting her bare legs made her shiver. Harry felt the shudder and assumed that it was a reaction to his slight contact with her shoulder.

"Sorry Jane – I didn't mean to touch you."

If she'd felt self conscious about standing in front of Harry semi naked in the hospital that was nothing compared with the embarrassment she was now experiencing as she stood in front of him clothed in his crumpled shirt, her thighs on display and hair powdered in concrete without benefit of makeup. Jane wasn't a particularly vain woman and in theory her discomfort was ridiculous given that he had seen her wearing far less; but that had been more than twenty five years ago under somewhat less clinical circumstances. To laugh off the feeling she commented, "Losing your touch with the ladies then?"

Jane hadn't intended to sound snide but realised too late the effect of the words emerging from her mouth. She could have bitten her tongue off as she waited for the sarcastic rejoinder that never came. Fury flared in Harry's face for a brief moment but he remained silent as he turned away from her. Leaning over the sofa he scooped up a woollen throw which he handed to her saying brusquely,"Here wrap this around yourself, it should keep you warm." Shamed by his failure to snap back at her Jane did as he requested, relinquishing the coat to him.

"I'll just go and hang this up – sit down Jane. Take the weight off that ankle." The words were uttered in a toneless voice as Harry retreated into the entrance hall.

Jane followed his advice flopping onto the very comfortable sofa she'd spied earlier. As she did so she marvelled at how easily Harry had managed, after all his neglect when they were married, to make her feel like a total bitch. What was worse was that Jane strongly suspected that Harry was more worried about the fate of their missing daughter than he was admitting too, but whereas he'd reverted to officer and gentleman mode to cope she'd reverted to her default setting of educated shrew. Jane knew she should apologise, but would doing so place her at a disadvantage in future arguments? Confused didn't even touch on how she felt at present.

As Harry came back into the room with set lips she decided to humble herself.

"Harry I'm sorry .. I didn't mean..." Every syllable was heavy with genuine contrition as she stumbled her way towards an apology but the rest of her words were lost as Harry responded wearily, "Jane I do understand how difficult you're finding this but would you please remember that it isn't exactly easy for me either. As I said earlier we do need to focus on Catherine and not our private disputes."

"I know but since I want to apologise please let me."

"You don't need to."

"Oh yes I ...what on earth are you smirking at?"

"Us –if you can avoid misinterpreting the word - rowing over apologising to each other - perhaps we should move on."

With his unsolicited reference to their daughter she assumed that the inevitable interrogation was upon her**. **She was therefore surprised when Harry, instead of beginning to bark questions at her, pulled the packet of medication out of his pocket and began to examine it. "Hmm strong painkillers - they'd knock out a horse. Two dressings for your shoulder, we'll have to acquire some more as you'll need to keep it covered for at least ten days - and a note for your GP – not sure when you'll see him or her but I'll get my doctor to examine you if necessary." Dropping the medication on the coffee table he turned to her. _Here it came, the endless questions, constant requests to recall details she couldn't remember._

"Okay Jane you know that I have to talk to you about the explosion but I really think the first priority should be to make you comfortable. A bath followed by hot milk sound okay. Wait here for a few minutes while I go and run one for you." Without waiting for an answer he exited the room yet again.

Jane was becoming accustomed to seeing Harry vanishing like the Cheshire cat and he was gone before she could protest that she'd prefer a shower. She heard him run up the stairs, a sound quickly followed by that of running water. Once more she was mentally kicking herself**, **she'd been so self absorbed that it hadn't occurred to her that Harry might be as unnerved as she was by the situation they found themselves in. Time certainly seemed to have rammed some degree of sensitivity into him. His temper was under better control as well. Within a few minutes he reappeared at the door having, she noticed, replaced his jacket with a casual shirt and held out his arm.

"Jane will you let me help you up the stairs? The less weight you put on that ankle the better."

She took the proffered support and painfully winced her way up to the landing as her ankle began to throb in earnest. She could identify the bathroom from the steam escaping through the closed door. Harry opened it and moved to allow her to pass through. She looked around, two large fluffy bath towels had been placed on the rail and a small shower spray had been attached to the taps. A further glance revealed a conveniently placed bottle of shampoo on the edge of the bath. As a gloriously spicy smell arose with the steam Jane sniffed the air wondering what he'd put in the bath water, somehow she'd never taped Harry as a devotee of aromatherapy.

Harry heard her sniffle and hastened to explain, "Muscle relaxant, works wonders on aches and pains. I'm sorry but the shampoo will smell a little masculine. Can you sit down for a moment?" With a gesture he indicated the only seat available.

As she settled herself on the closed toilet lid she felt a slight tinge of alarm when Harry knelt down in front of her and eased the damaged foot into his hand.

"Don't worry I've not developed a foot fetish in my old age, but you don't want to soak the bed with wet strapping. I'll re-do it for you when you get out."

As she stood up on a now unsupported ankle she staggered, lost her balance and nearly crashed into Harry. He managed to catch her in his arms, steadied her and then held her at arm's length. As she swayed he asked in a studiously neutral voice, "Can you manage to get into the bath or ...do you need help?"

"You wish ... my hair's too short to be a latter day Lady Godiva, thanks." The spark in his eyes and tell tale muscle in his jaw told her that this misplaced attempt at humour had backfired although all Harry actually said was, "Okay if I promise not act out the role of Peeping Tom will you promise to leave the door unlocked and shout if you feel dizzy.. I'll be across the passageway making up the spare bed." For the second time in the evening Jane was forced to watch him disappear while lashing herself for her crassness**.**

With a heavy sigh she unfastened his shirt, removed the underwear that also looked the worse for the bomb blast and climbed awkwardly into the bath wondering if she was ever going to achieve anything approaching a normal conversation with Harry. Try as she might every word she uttered seemed to be tainted with an undertow of bitterness which, over the past few hours at least, he'd done nothing to deserve. The past was a foreign country it seemed impossible to escape from, for her anyway.

In the spare bedroom Harry was breathing deeply as he reminded himself that Jane knew nothing of the demons that haunted him without hope of exorcism**. **He wasn't entirely sure that this knowledge would have stilled her tongue but Jane while a formidable opponent in an argument was not, if memory served, actively malicious. He had begun to believe that after the past few months he'd finally achieved, if not acceptance, at least some degree of equilibrium but the sight of Jane in his house, shortly to be sleeping under his roof had proved that thought to be a chimera**. **Her unguarded remarks a piercing reminder of events he could never forget and a cruel reminder of lost hopes**. ** Harry knew that he couldn't claim to have lead a very virtuous life, but the God he didn't believe in must really hate him. Yet another enemy to line up with the CIA, the Russians, at least half of his supposed colleagues, his ex. '_Stop it. Harry concentrate. You have to find out about Catherine'_. He could only hope that Jane would begin to mellow as he wasn't sure how much sarcasm he could take from her before he really snapped.

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled him back into the present as Jane emerged swathed in a blue towel looking a little less wrecked. Chastened by guilt and in a determined effort to build bridges she remarked, "That's good stuff, the aches are definitely easier. Once my hair's dry I'll start feeling vaguely human again."

"Sorry but you'll have to air dry it."

Eyeing Harry's scalp Jane succumbed to temptation, "Yes well I don't suppose you have much need for a hair dryer these days."

To her relief Harry simply chuckled saying, "Ten out of ten for observation Miss," as he waved a hand towards a few clothes lying on the bed. "One shirt to sleep in and I've put a new one out for tomorrow with a pair of joggers."

"No need for me to commander a brand new shirt."

"Oh yes there is – you're smelling of male shampoo and bath foam, add one shirt smelling of aftershave plus my joggers – you'll have everyone thinking that marriage to me was so awful you decided to bat for the other side, just think of my reputation a little." It difficult being jocular but if Jane was going to try to be pleasant it behoved him to reciprocate.

"Just tell them I've had two children and remarried."

"I've dirt on at least three MP's who could say the same but...Official secret at least until the tabloids catch up with them." She laughed outright at that, which was not exactly good news for her cracked ribs**.** Feeling that she was on a roll Jane ignored the pain as she innocently enquired,

"You're still dangerous to know then?"

_Clang!_ It was as if a shutter had slammed down: once again his face suddenly displayed the frozen mask she'd seen in the car, expressionless with blank eyes and a stillness that made her feel like a trespasser. '_Oh God I've done it again_.' Covering the awkward pause she hurried on "Actually I'm more worried over comments about the joggers falling down, given that you have expanded slightly around the waist."

The frozen mask dissolved into an amused grin as Harry replied, "Rather more than slightly I'm afraid, comes of sitting behind a desk all day. Okay you make yourself respectable and I'll bring you up some hot milk and re-do that strapping."

Once she heard his footsteps descending the stairs Jane hastily stripped off the towel and grabbed the shirt he'd left her. To her great relief it was slightly longer than the one he'd loaned her in the hospital. She sat on the bed grateful to feel crisp sheets and possessed of a great longing to collapse onto the welcoming pillow. Jane heard the distant sound of the microwave pinging followed a few minutes later by Harry reappearing with two mugs. Positioning himself cautiously in a chair at the end of the bed he indicated to her to hold out her ankle which he carefully and expertly rebound. She assumed that this skill was a legacy from his many injuries**.** Lying back she took hold of the hot mug suddenly realising how thirsty she was. Harry sipped his drink and allowed her a few minutes respite before saying gently, "Jane I don't want to hound you but I really would like an answer to my question at the hospital. What are you doing here?"

"Oh – visiting Catherine. It was a bit spur of the moment."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"In the middle of term – didn't your school object?"

"Of course you didn't know I changed jobs –long story." He raised his eyebrows slightly at that but kept silent as she continued, "but I've got some part time commissions that mean I have to visit London, hotels cost a fortune and I have a key to Catherine's. I do usually warn her but... "

"So she didn't know you were coming. I know it's distressing but can you give me some details as to what happened when you arrived?"

Jane closed her eyes as she pictured the events of the evening in her mind. "I took a taxi from the station – black cab. When I arrived I paid him and he drove off. I went to the door, put my bags down, got out my key, put it in the door. I'd only half turned it when I heard footsteps coming down the street. I thought it might be Catherine so I moved from the front door towards the pavement and that's when..." She stopped shuddering at the memory before continuing, "I remember wood and bits of stone flying to me, I went down onto the pavement, hit my head and after that it's a bit of a blur."

"Understandably so. Okay did you hear anything?"

"I don't think so – I've a vague memory of something driving off but I don't know if it was before or after the blast. All I do remember is every car alarm in the street going off and wondering if I'd ever be unglued from the tarmac."

"So did you expect Catherine to be in?"

"Come on Harry you know what she's like – just as bad as you at keeping things close to her chest. As far as I know she is fixed in London at present, but some contact or source for a film and she's off at once and damn the consequences."

Tiredness seemed to lace into Jane's worried voice as she uttered these last words. The hot milk, warmth from the bath and sheer exhaustion were beginning to kick in. Harry had other questions to ask but as Jane yawned he glanced at his watch and realised that it was close to three in the morning. Tomorrow, or rather today, was lining up to be difficult and he supposed he should try for a couple of hours sleep at least. Standing up he held out his hand to take Jane's empty mug.

"Okay – we'll have to give you an official debrief in Thames House in the morning but for tonight do try to rest."

"Given the state of my underwear it'll definitely be debrief so I'm not going anywhere until I know your joggers are secured around the waist. I draw the line at borrowing your boxers."

"I'll sort something out. Try to sleep. I've put a light duvet on the bed so hopefully it won't weigh heavy on your injuries."

With that he departed leaving her with a great deal to consider**. **So too did Harry who had realised, with some astonishment, that during their last conversation he'd felt vaguely relaxed for the first time in months**: **and with Jane of all people! Trying to work out why this should be so he could only conclude that although Jane's ignorance of recent events had made her trample inadvertently over his most secret emotions at least she wasn't invested with an aura of pity whenever she spoke to him. Pity was the last thing he wanted and he could depend on Jane not to provide any. To her he remained Harry the womaniser, failed husband and arch liar. In her ignorance of the pain she was inflicting he found relief, '_Oh God_' he thought, '_I'll be sounding like one the psychoanalytical morons at Tring next. Just go with the mood swings and remember that by tomorrow Jane be restored by sleep to her delightfully acid self_.'

Following his by now habitual cure for introspection he sought action in collecting Jane's abandoned clothing from the bathroom and realised, as he stuffed them into the washing machine, that she hadn't been joking about her need for replacement underwear.

Heading upstairs he knocked on her bedroom door and stuck his head around it in response to her sleepy, "Yes Harry?"

"Sorry Jane – quick question – er are you still the same dress size?"

"Yes but ..."

"Lucky woman. Okay just wondering. Goodnight"

With that Harry softly closed the door and headed to his own bed. Just before he hit the mattress he sent Erin a text which, when she opened it the next morning, contained what was undoubtedly the most bizarre request she had ever received from her boss.

Can I borrow of pair of your knickers? Courier them to my home. Thanks Harry.

**Will Harry manage to keep his temper with Jane? How will Jane put her foot in it next? Also will they begin to find out what happened to Catherine? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks for the reviews. Harry and Jane the morning after the night before (ahem). Also could be called Harry fights back. **

_Harry's House approx 8.30am next morning_

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table staring gloomily at his breakfast which consisted of one large mug of strong black coffee accompanied by a correspondingly small bowl containing a smidgeon of cereal. It was 8.30 in the morning and without even setting foot on the Grid he had already endured two spectacularly difficult conversations.

First off had been Erin, ringing to check that his early hours text hadn't been the brain child of a drunken stupor. He had finally managed to convince her, with some difficulty that he had been perfectly sober when he had pressed the send button and that a visit from an AA crash team was surplus to requirements. Once the situation had been properly explained Erin had gracefully apologised for her misapprehensions, expressed sympathy for the position Jane found herself in, and by way of making amends offered to throw a spare bra into the package. That had been the easier of the two discussions. He was still reeling from the subsequent encounter with Jane.

Knocking on Jane's door and having to explain the provenance of the proffered smalls would live in his memory as one of their more annihilating encounters. It had taken him a good ten minutes to convince her that the envelope contents were not gift wrapped debris from his bedroom floor; the remnants of a close encounter of the intimate kind. During the subsequent exchange of views, Jane, in full Karotoa mode, had amply demonstrated her almost perfect recall of just about every one of his marital misdemeanours – including several that he had thought, until now, had evaded the wifely radar. She had finally accepted his offering with a gracious comment to the effect that her alternative option was the feminine equivalent of going commando. Thirty years ago Harry would have found that prospect positively enticing but now... Age, he had to concede, seemed to be catching up with him. More importantly Jane's response had made it clear that Harry was still in pole position on her 'S_hits of the Century_' list.

As he awaited her arrival downstairs Harry tried to consider dispassionately the circumstances that had lead to Jane's current tenure under his roof. Unfortunately all he really knew for certain was the little Dimitri had told him a few hours earlier, plus Jane's assertion that she'd expected Catherine to be in London. To be blunt at present he knew virtually nothing at all. Obviously his daughter was missing and much as Harry would have liked to convince himself that her absence and the bombing of her flat were purely coincidental thirty plus years as a spook made that thought risible. It was a mystery he couldn't begin to solve while seated here at the breakfast table. For the first time since Ruth's death he was anxious to get into the Grid for reasons other than the need to linger withinn her echoing presence. He could only hope that Calum and Dimitri had managed to unearth some positive leads from the CCTV and recognition software. Erin had mentioned that both men had hit the Grid early to begin working on the case. She was intending to join them once she'd dealt with Harry's request. And once she'd contacted Towers, although she hadn't mentioned that last bit.

Harry wondered if either Erin or Towers were really dense enough to believe that he hadn't realised that Towers had charged the Erin with the role of informer vis a vis Harry's mental state. The knowledge didn't make him especially angry; in Towers position he would have made the same arrangements and Erin didn't have a choice unless she wanted to commit career Hari-Kari. Harry simply regarded this as one more cross to bear in the permanent Good Friday his life had become.

His thoughts were disturbed by the most immediate of his crosses entering the kitchen clad in his shirt and joggers, both presumably underpinned by Erin's smalls. He didn't dare risk staring in an attempt to confirm the latter, he really didn't want perving added to Jane's rapidly expanding charge sheet of grievances. Her appearance also called to mind his responsibilities as a host, but in view of her earlier explosion Harry had decided to adopt an age old military tactic; the one that espoused attack as being the best form of defence.

"Morning again Jane. I'd say that you look lovely but you'll just call me a liar. I can offer you a choice of tea, coffee, juice and cereal or cereal plus painkillers."

"Ever the flatterer. The upper layers make me look like a cross dresser of uncertain age while the items you obtained make me look like a refugee from a soft porn movie. Your Section Chief certainly has a racy taste in underwear, but at least my modesty is covered ... just. Coffee and cereal then, and painkillers reluctantly."

Harry, who'd started thinking involuntarily along the lines of '_you_ _lucky bastard Dimitri',_ stared a little at these last words, Jane noticed and continued: "You may remember that I was on anti depressants when we divorced." In such fated tones the early martyrs might have spoken: stoical but brave victims faced with a callous indifference to their fate. Harry's reply was to let forth an unforced groan, '_here we go again, the same old record, or these days should that be ipod?_' and he just wished to God that she'd shuffle the tune – all his less than glorious yesterdays dragged up twice before breakfast! '_I need a whisky, a double.' _ Jane heard his moan and continued crisply, "I'm trying to explain Harry. My GP should taken me off them after I ditched you, but he didn't. In effect I became addicted and that has made me reluctant to even take an aspirin." Given Harry's lack of response she added caustically, "Don't feel obliged to apologise."

Harry had already decided not to, on the basis that life, especially for MI5 agents, was short and certainly far too short to utter every apology Jane might demand as her due. Obviously last night's vague truce had been fuelled by exhaustion. Her diatribe did, however, recall something he'd forgotten to ask the previous evening.

"That reminds me. Jane don't you need to ring my replacement? – He must be worried and ..."

Jane didn't give him time to finish before interrupting him with a dismissive wave of her hand: "No need he's away at present, visiting some old friends."

"Even so..."

"No Harry, leave it. It isn't necessary, and I don't want to worry him, this doesn't concern him."

Although she sounded commanding Harry registered the slight hesitation in her voice. Jane was concealing something. His mind began to race as he was tempted, oh was he tempted, to push and make Jane wriggle for once, but then one of them had to be an adult and at present he was more concerned to concentrate on finding their daughter. Once Catherine was safe he and Jane would be unlocked from their reluctant alliance, freed to go their separate ways once more. '_Now there was a consummation devoutly to be wished, preferably before one of them was arraigned for homicide.'_

"Very well Jane, eat up, drink up and dose up as you think fit. My driver will be here in about ten minutes to take us to Thames House."

Jane, taken aback, stared at him. Although he'd mentioned going into Thames House the previous evening she'd assumed that was spook speak for being put under witness protection. During the all the years of their marriage he'd refused to allow her any significant entre into his secret world. Despite her curiosity she'd always accepted that to some extent his excuse of national security combined with the need to keep his family safe was true, even if it had also provided a convenient cover for his many infidelities. How ironical that now, years later, when it was too late to salvage their relationship, he was offering this as the most natural of suggestions. Memories of her earlier rejected pleas threaded another thought.

"Right, but won't the fragrant Juliet object to my civilian presence within the hallowed precincts". Given his past history with Juliet the viciousness in Jane's voice didn't surprise Harry, which was exactly why he wanted to prevaricate, if at all possible.

"The not so fragrant Juliet isn't around to object and if she is foolish enough to come within a mile of the place she'll find herself working at Her Majesty's Pleasure rather that at her Majesty's Service"

"Why? What did she do – lash someone to death with her tongue?"

The words '_pot' 'kettle'_ and '_black'_ floated into Harry's mind as he tried to bluster behind the protective shield of protocol.

"Sorry Official Secret."

"Yes and I've signed the Act. Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to land myself in prison on account of blabbing about that bitch? I wouldn't risk having to share a cell with her. So tell!"

Harry felt a momentary pang of hypothetical sympathy for any prison governor unfortunate enough to house the pairing of his ex-wife and ex-boss. It had definite potential as a torture technique. Reluctantly he concluded that Jane wouldn't be satisfied until she had an answer. He supposed he should try to keep on the right side of her, although exactly where that side was located remained a geometrical mystery.

"She joined an organisation dedicated to creating world peace by disabling the USA and arming Iran with nuclear triggers. She tried to recruit me but when I wouldn't agree and it was clear they were rumbled she made her excuses and left, leaving me handcuffed."

"You kinky devils."

"Not like that – I was fully clothed at the time."

Harry uttered this last with some asperity as his revelation was greeted with a look of total glee on Jane's face.

"What an utterly delicious thought. It almost makes it worthwhile having put up with the patronage I endured from that cow in Paris smiling at my supposed ignorance, remember, when the pair of you were sneaking off to hotels and screwing yourselves senseless at every opportunity." Jane's voice was slightly raised as she recalled her past betrayals. "So now she's a wanted woman and you were sleeping with the enemy - presumably it wasn't your brain you were thinking with when you fell into that particular honey trap."

'_How exactly_,' Harry wondered, '_was Jane managing to do it?'_ She knew nothing of his recent past, of Ruth and Elena, yet time after time every verbal arrow loosed from her tongue scored a bullseye on his most sensitive and secret shames. Defence was useless. Sticking to his resolve to attack he replied in a terse voice that would have signalled to even the most obtuse of his underlings that a Pearce explosion was imminent.

"Jane I really must point out that if it takes two to marry equally it takes two to stuff up a relationship. I'll plead guilty to three quarters of blame for the mess our marriage became, but if I have to listen much more of this I'll be reminding you of some of your more questionable actions."

"Such as?"

"For a start how about the insidious comments you've made for years to Catherine and Graham?"

"How dare you when you..."

Her attempt at self justification died at birth as Harry, temper in full throttle and eyes burning with anger stood up smashing his fist down onto the kitchen table. Somewhat unfortunately he accidentally hit the rim of his cereal bowl making Jane splutter when she suddenly found herself plastered with milk soaked museli. Shocked into silence she looked around for a cloth to wipe herself down with. Harry silently handed her a roll of kitchen towel before continuing in a somewhat more muted manner.

"Jane rehashing the past isn't doing either of us any good. I need you on the Grid because you are the only witness we have to last night's explosion and your input is vital. Also, much as I hate to admit it, you've probably a better idea of what Catherine may or may not have been up to and that could be important."

Jane was still recovering from the shock of being on the receiving end of Harry's temper. She fully realised that she'd provoked him but while she retained near perfect recall of all his faults as a husband she'd forgotten just how intimidating Harry could be when gripped by fury. For now silence might be a sensible idea. As she occupied herself sponging cereal off Harry's shirt and picking oat flakes out of her hair she almost missed his next words.

"Jane, I must ask you if you could possibly refrain from biting chunks out of me in front of my junior staff."

"Not good for your image?"

"That isn't what bothers me – my staff have seen and heard far worse about me than anything you can come up with, but if they are being forced to act as a buffer zone between us it might distract them from the main task."

Jane considered his words before replying in much quieter voice, "I'll try. I really am sorry Harry –and despite what I keep letting fly with I do appreciate the trouble you've taken to try and make me comfortable, truly I do. It's just that ... well last night when I was soaking in the bath I began thinking that the past should be a foreign country and I should let it go ...but then ... let's just say that I seem to be trapped in a time warp that I can't escape from."

There was a very, very long pause as Harry was swallowed into the memory of a similar conversation a few months previously. He recalled the piercing blue eyes that had looked questioningly at him as Ruth stood framed in his office doorway, suspecting the truth but desperately hoping that Elena had simply been an asset. Her look of hurt comprehension as he'd haltingly admitted the extent of their involvement which had lead to his fathering of a child, or so he had believed at the time. Little had either of them known that they were already inescapably bound up in the web of untruths and intrigue spun in Berlin decades previously. Even as Ruth was offering with resigned love to help him unpick his mistakes she was already the doomed victim of events set in motion when she was a schoolgirl. He might be considered to have received his just desserts, the deceiver deceived but Ruth, innocent, selfless, loving Ruth...he might as well have stabbed her himself...the inescapable truth was that her blood was still on his hands and always would be.

"Harry, Harry...what's wrong?" Harry started, he'd been so absorbed in his ghostly vision that it had achieved a momentary reality. As it dissolved he realised that he was looking blankly at Jane who was regarding him with a genuine expression of concern. He managed to articulate a reply; "It's nothing Jane." '_Liar Pearce the cock has just crowed three times.'_ "Someone else said something similar to me a while ago that's all. Believe me I understand more completely that you will ever know just how difficult it is to move on."

Jane had begun to note his momentary hesitations, '_so Harry did have someone in his life'_ and judging by the note of ineffable sadness in his voice it wasn't going well. For several seconds his eyes had been unfocussed as he had seemed to submerge himself into the stillness of a hinterland peopled by regrets**.** Had he actually found someone who could resist his charms? Jane knew better than anyone how appealing Harry could make himself, women had fallen for him in swathes at University, forcing one of his less successful friends to complain in crude exasperation that _'Harry could charm the knickers off a nun_'. That implication had raised every feminist hackle she possessed. Consequently it had been with a small degree of shame that, when she in her turn had been confronted with the full barrage of the Pearce seduction technique, she'd found him impossible to resist. The real puzzle, of course, was how come they'd wound up as figurines on a shared wedding cake. She knew why she'd said yes –he'd been attractive, amusing, intelligent and, if she was completely honest, great fun in bed – At the time she'd never really paused to wonder why he'd been so desperate to marry her. Until the carapace of secrecy had heralded their downward spiral, when anything they had ever had had finally vanished into a thundercloud of recrimination, she'd never really considered that question. Now looking into his sorrow glazed eyes she began to ponder anew. '_What exactly had distinguished her from all the women he'd bedded previously? What fugitive __quality had he discovered in her, firstly to make him pursue her with avidity and then later to elevate her from the status of casual girlfriend into legal wife?'_ During the previous evening she'd become well aware that despite his receding hair and expanding waist parts of the old Pearce charm lingered on, '_Once bitten_ _etc'_**. **So who was this mysterious female? Jane was generously prepared to bet Harry's shirt that she had now guessed the root cause of the recurring expression that she had privately nicknamed his '_frozen look'_. One thing was certain, if she wanted to discover anything at all about Harry's Dark Lady she'd need to adopt a more subtle approach than that of simply asking him, especially given that she really wanted to avoid any awkward counter questions.

"Jane."

Harry had noticed her silence.

"Sorry Harry, I was trying to guard my tongue. I promise I'll try to avoid too much mention of our past in front of your staff."

Apprising her for sarcasm Harry concluded that she'd been shocked into sincerity, which was timely given that the caller display on his now ringing phone indicated that his driver had arrived. Further discussion would be futile. He knew Jane would try to stick to her word, whether she'd succeed was more problematical. "That's agreed then. My driver's here so let's head off to see what we can find out about our elusive child. Coat?"

As he pulled on the coat he'd loaned her the previous evening onto his own back he handed her a dark coloured three quarter length waxed jacket.

"Okay Jane ready to enter the world of James Bond?"

Glancing at the ragbag of garments now topped off by a coat closely resembling a shroud Jane grimaced, "I think my outfit's wrong. Shouldn't I be wearing black leather?"

Harry briefly contemplated offering her the gloves he'd worn when murdering of the last but one Home Secretary, but decided against. Instead he said lightly as he pulled the front door open. "And you've just accused me of kinky ideas!"

As Jane made to follow him he held up his hand saying, "Wait a moment while I check." Making sure that Jane couldn't see what he was doing Harry cast a quick professional eye over both sides of the street. He noted a nondescript youth in a grey hoodie standing some distance away, seemingly absorbed in the content of his ipod. On seeing Harry's appearance the hoodie gave the briefest of nods before wandering aimlessly away. Harry, without making any acknowledgement, waited until the young man was out of his sight line before turning back to Jane. As he took her arm to help her limp down the steps she heard him whisper reassuringly: "Your outfit may lack glamour but I do have to admit Jane that shirt looks better on you than it will on me."

"Spare the charm for someone who hasn't fallen for it before Harry, I'm innoculated remember."

"That's not charm Jane. It's basic observation."

**Next up Harry and Jane hit the Grid to find out has happened to Catherine. It may be a while before I can update due to an imminent change in broadband provider and the need to write the next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks**_** to those who reviewed. This is longer than planned but I couldn't find a suitable point at which to break it up.**_

_The Grid. 9.30_

The Grid was rarely quiet but today the usually febrile atmosphere was enriched with an extra buzz. By some nefarious means, in an organisation dedicated to secrecy, the news had rapidly leaked to even the most junior of officers that the very private life of the formidable head of Section D had once again become entangled within a forthcoming operation**. **Following hard on the heels of the events colloquially referred to as 'The Gavirk Affair' it was a juicy topic for gossip. These speculations were taking place well out of earshot of the three senior officers, the only persons present who actually knew what had taken place regarding the death of Ruth Evershed and the equally mysterious reappearance of a harrowed Sir Harry onto the Grid. This trio were feverishly occupied in trying to discover some information, however minor, as the fate of their boss's daughter. A dispassionate observer might have concluded that their jobs were dependent upon their success – which given Harry's mood these days might indeed prove to be the case. Thus the news relayed by Erin that Harry was bringing his estranged ex-wife onto the Grid was greeted with a stunned silence.

Calum was the first to recover: "You do realise that their divorce made Macca and Mills look fluffy by comparison?" Before Erin could ask from whence he'd acquired that historical titbit Dimitri interrupted with a more pertinent concern**: "**Erin, does she know about Ruth and the Gavriks?"

Erin stared at him disbelievingly; "Di would you tell your antagonistic ex '_actually I'm mourning a woman seventeen years younger than myself who was accidentally stabbed to death by the boy I thought I'd fathered on a triple agent during the Cold War while I was still married to you_?"

"Not unless I'd completely lost my marbles."

"Which Harry hasn't – not yet anyway. I suggest you two find some Intel to keep it that way."

The whoosh of the pods heralded the arrival of the companions at war. The sudden hush that greeted their appearance, followed by a wave of animated chat, alerted Harry immediately as to the nature of the interrupted conversations. Stepping forward he shot a basilisk stare across the Grid announcing in a voice that made his displeasure obvious.

"We are not refugees from Hello magazine. Anyone not searching for Al Qaeda's pinup boys within the next five seconds will be saying goodbye via my personally delivered autograph on their P45."

As he made this statement he unexpectedly felt a sudden protective urge towards the woman standing beside him. He had felt rather than seen Jane's momentary hesitation as they emerged from the pods and he could have sworn that for a brief moment she had moved slightly towards him. A quick sideways glance told him that she was all too conscious of the close scrutiny and was staring back at the curious spooks with her most fearsome schoolmarm glare, the one that could have felled a gorgon at ten paces. At least for once he wasn't its recipient.

Jane's expression conveyed an air of confidence that belied a feeling of increasing disorientation. For years her image of Harry had been that of a neglectful husband and absent father but from the instant she'd entered the Thames House foyer she'd become aware of the air of unconscious deference accorded to him. She'd known, of course, that he'd achieved promotion from the ranks after an outstanding career as a field officer, but she'd never quite realised the extent to which this had transformed his persona into that of the powerful man now at her side. A man possessed of an unquestioned authority, a man to be defied at the peril of the transgressor. It was as if she was viewing him through a pair of 3D spectacles; the original image was retained but enhanced by the addition of a hitherto unseen dimension. As she readjusted to this amended vision she consoled herself with the reflection that no man was a hero to a woman who'd seen him in his underpants.

Harry, anxious to spare her too much intrusive attention steered her across the Grid towards his office as he barked, "Meeting Room Erin, Dimitri and Calum in five minutes." The three spooks exchanged apprehensive looks, clearly Harry's usual sunny disposition was still firmly in situ.

After a quick glance Erin nervously followed Harry into his office. "Sorry Harry but the Home Secretary rang. He needs to bring forward tomorrow's meeting. 2.00pm today. I did try to explain."

Harry would have liked to reply in some highly unparliamentary language but concluded that it was unfair to shoot the messenger. Looking at Erin he contented himself with saying: "Thanks Erin. Can I introduce you to Jane?"

Erin held out her hand which was grasped by Jane who smilingly said, "I believe I owe you some thanks – although I'm sure you found Harry's text as embarrassing as I did."

"Think nothing of it I was just glad to help. Harry, I'll go and chase the other two into the Meeting Room."

As the impossibly glamorous Erin retreated Jane's eyes followed her thoughtfully. On Harry's past form his mystery woman was probably a work acquaintance. Harry noticed her suspicious look and flatly stated, "No Jane I'm not having an affair with her."

Jane, not keen to admit to her suspicions, attempted to wrong foot him: "Actually I was wondering how she manages to run after terrorists in those heels."

Harry gave a slight smirk, "Touché Jane, I read your mind correctly, don't deny it, but you've read mine. I've often wondered the same thing."

"Twenty five years since we divorced and we can still tell what the other is thinking!"

Harry's eyes strayed briefly through the glass panels of his office and out over the Grid. A quick flash of yearning ran across his face. What was he looking at? Jane didn't have time to consider as Harry was now holding open his office door for her as a precursor to them joining his team.

Entered the Meeting Room slightly behind the three younger spooks Harry noted an undignified scuffle between Calum and Dimitri both striving to sit in the place traditionally occupied by the Data Analyst, unused for the past few months. Harry sighed, he understood their reasoning but wondered why they thought it would affect him so badly to see another woman seated in Ruth's place when he walked with her spectre everywhere and every day. He knew she was gone forever and he knew the team had to move on, even if he couldn't. His tardiness in appointing a successor had nothing to do with an unwillingness to replace her, because he never could; it had everything to do with finding someone competent.

Taking his usual position at the head of the table Harry took a deep breath before saying: "Firstly can I introduce Jane. As you all know she is my ex-wife. She is also our only witness. She has signed the act and you can trust her not to divulge anything she hears." Jane was shocked, after all the bitter arguments she'd had with Harry he actually trusted her! Harry oblivious continued, "What have we got?"

Calum and Dimitri exchanged another quick glance before Calum said, "Not much so far. Dimitri has the report from the Bomb Squad plus the CCTV footage from last night with Jane rocketing across the road. That's it."

"What no other CCTV from the street!" Harry was incredulous. When Catherine had moved in he'd made it his business to unobtrusively check her security. "Why not?"

Calum gave a sigh as he explained, "The area is having the CCTV checked and upgraded, it's an agreed programme, being done to a timetable. The cameras are turned off at 9.30 in the morning and switched back at around 6.00pm. Yesterday was the turn of Catherine's street, plus one or two surrounding ones. I've asked for a list of those who knew about the timetable. It was kept relatively quiet at the request of the police but even so the list will be lengthy."

Harry seemed likely to combust but any explosion was averted by Dimtri asking, "Could Jane tell us exactly what she remembers from yesterday evening before we see any footage?"

Harry nodded as he as he turned towards her, "Jane, can you repeat what you told me last night plus anything else that may have occurred to you since." Closing her eyes Jane recounted for the benefit of the team exactly what she had told Harry the previous evening.

When she had finished Dimitri leant forward, "Can I ask... you are absolutely sure that you just half turned the key?"

"Yes – I remember because it seemed to have hit an obstruction and that's when I heard the footsteps."

"Dimitri – why the grilling about the key?" asked Harry.

"I'll explain in a minute but could we first see the CCTV footage of the explosion?" Turning to Jane he added, "I hope it won't be too distressing."

Jane shook her head. "What more distressing than the actual event? Go ahead. Just don't post it on YouTube."

As he watched the footage, the central feature of which was Jane's starring role as a human cannonball Harry realised that she had had a very close call**.** He wondered briefly how he'd have reacted if she'd ended up as a fatality. Before he could answer that one Dimitri said, "I can see why the Bomb Squad leader was mooning all over it."

"Yea mate well some of us get off on a different sort of Big Bang so could we have the details?"

"Okay. The bomb was set with a double detonator. Inside the flat it was set with a timer that would explode a small relay of little bombs. Enough to destroy the contents but not weaken the entire building. The squad think it was set to go off sometime this morning after most of the occupants in the building had left for work."

"How very considerate," said Harry with deep sarcasm, – "so why did it go off when it did?"

"That's what I'm coming to. A second detonator was set, basically if the front door was opened the key turn would activate one bomb on the door which would in turn trigger the relay into the flat."

"But it didn't."

"Yes, well it seems that for the complete effect the key had to be turned fully. Jane says she only half turned it which triggered the door and because she stepped away she avoided the full blast. She was lucky."

Jane rubbed her shoulder thoughtfully – so this was what lucky felt like. She recalled briefly the number of occasions when a battered Harry had reappeared shrugging off his injuries with that particular utterance. She began to wonder which she'd underestimated more, his pain threshold or his acting ability.

These thoughts were interrupted by Harry's voice. "So in conclusion we can assume that this was targeted, that the culprits are trying to avoid unnecessary loss of life if possible but they needed to destroy something in the flat. Which means it's still there. When can we get access?"

Erin asked, "But why target Catherine and where is she?"

Before Harry could answer Jane chipped in, "Unfortunately our daughter is a chip off the male block. She makes films on controversial issues and isn't bothered who she upsets or how reckless she is in the interests of her cause. She also plays thing close to her chest so I've no idea what she's been working on but I'd reckon she might have upset someone. She'd have been dead on more than one occasion if it hadn't been for her father."

'_Should he be gratified by this ambiguous statement?' _Harry was still trying to decide when Erin intervened.

"Harry there is another possibility. That someone is trying to manipulate you using the three fs and have skipped straight to family."

Jane looked puzzled, Harry's eyes were shooting daggers, but Erin decided to risk annoying him as she attempted to enlighten Jane. "It's a well known technique for breaking or controlling someone, you try to get to them through friends, finance or family and in our job we make enemies. And Harry ...well now..." Her words tapered off as she realised that she was venturing into indiscreet territory.

"That will do Erin." A glaring Harry interrupted before Erin could expound further. He'd noted how shocked Jane looked. Not surprising really, she'd lived on the edge of his world but neglectful as he'd been in many ways he'd always managed to protect her and the children. It was one of the few creditable actions he had undertaken during their marriage, but now Jane was truly face to face with the dangers that had been the mainstay of his life for so many years. He awaited a hysterical denouncement as she sought relief in blaming him for the situation. It was to his surprise when she said quietly but in a voice that required an answer:

"If my, - sorry, - our daughter is at risk I have a right to know why. Harry?"

Calum, Erin and Dimitri collectively held their peace. This was Harry's call. Harry looked at Jane directly as he replied, "A few months ago an operation went badly wrong and a Deputy Director of the CIA ended up dead. The buck stopped with me and my extradition to America was agreed. At the very last minute it was discovered that the real culprits were the agents of a dissident group so the extradition was cancelled."

'_You had to admire him_,' Erin thought. From Harry's almost casual tone as he impassively recounted the bowdlerised version of one of the worst experiences of his life the uninformed listener would have supposed that this had been an event on a par with a convivial booze cruise, rather than one in which the best case scenario had been a lifetime in an American penitentiary.

"But surely..." Jane halted. "Sorry I'm being naive aren't I," '_God Jane did you have to use_ _that word,'_ "The CIA still want you and aren't happy chappies so your team think that they are trying to manipulate you into making a mistake that will reactivate the extradition, presumably so they can wring a number of State secrets out of you." The assembled spooks, with the exception of Harry, were stunned by her quick grasp of the implications. Harry cast a slightly sardonic look at their faces, he could have told them that teaching English literature did not exclude an uncanny ability to put two and two together. Life with Jane had been a huge help in honing his deceptive skills, although judging by their earlier conversation he'd not been quite as successful at hoodwinking her as he'd previously believed.

"That's one possibility but ..We have another one," Dimitri had spoken now. "What about the cultural Olympiad that you're involved with Jane – I understand that has some controversies attached to it?"

It was Harry's turn to look slightly fazed - what on earth was Dimitri talking about? Then he remembered that he'd recently tasked Dimitri with the overseeing of what Harry privately regarded as an unnecessary arty add on and irritating security distraction from the main event. Not that Harry the opera lover wasn't partial to the odd Shakespearean production. Given a personal choice of entertainment he'd consider it preferable to the three week extravaganza revolving around American jocks, dubious franchising and nationalistic hyperbole with ne'er a cricket ball in sight.

Jane was speaking; "Firstly my arrival yesterday was unplanned, secondly the arguments are those of interpretation so I think that is highly unlikely."

Before Jane could squash Dimitri completely Calum chipped in, "Yea think of the headlines, set of scary spear carriers terrorise London."

Harry stood up signalling the end of the meeting; "Dimitri find out how quickly we can get access to Catherine's flat. We need to know why it was bombed and whatever details you can turn up about the bomb itself. Calum check the CCTV for witnesses and trace them. Erin check everyone who knew the CCTV would be turned off and their contacts. We need facts not theories, and quickly. Jane, a word."

His voice sounded even but Jane could tell from the way Harry strode out of the Meeting Room that he was furious at having his ignorance exposed. Well she supposed she could enlighten him on this topic at least. She followed him into his office, calmly sat down on the sofa and waited for the hurricane to begin swirling.

Without preamble Harry snapped, "Jane –give me the full tale as to how you ended up here," at the sight of her thundercloud face he added a belated, "Please."

"You probably remember how horrible I was to you when we met at Luke's funeral." '_Not really Jane I thought you were being your normal self.'_ "Well at the time I was worried about being prosecuted for assault."

_Three years ago just before she returned from Cyprus_. Harry dragged his thoughts back to Jane's timeline and expostulated, "What!"

"As I said last night, or do I mean this morning, long story."

"Could you précis it then, the last I knew you were having huge success as Head of Department at..."

"Yes well things change. We acquired a new Head with cool ideas who wanted us to think outside the box." Harry winced, cool was definitely not his favourite word and jargon in his experience was used by mentally bankrupt incompetents seeking to disguise their total lack of ability. Jane noted the grimace and said, "Exactly. He'd absorbed every trendy idea from the last ten years and decided to introduce them. First move was to get rid of the school library and replace it with a computer suite, then in the interests of relevance I found myself having to discuss the ethical considerations displayed in East Enders rather than Shakespeare. The school went paperless with all work submitted electronically by VLE, when the pupils could be bothered to do it."

"Sorry, VLE?"

"Virtual Learning Environment – changed the excuse for not finishing from the '_dog ate my homework to the broadband went down_'. Students had to be referred to as clients and their wishes became the paramount driving force, so when the pupils, sorry clients, announced that they found difficulty in getting up the school day was adjusted to begin at 10.30 in the morning."

Harry wondered if Jane was winding him up but looking at her face her realised it was the truth, she was nearly as wedded to her profession as he was to his. It was that quality of passionate commitment to an ideal that had attracted him. He remembered vividly the evening in the pub when she'd first announced her career plans. At the time they been mere acquaintances, in fact Jane had made it clear that, like most people, she regarded the young Harry Pearce as a shallow youth, heedless and caring for nobody. Harry's plans to enter the army had generally been dissed by his crowd with caustic comments, '_mate you don't need a uniform to pull.' _In the face of such statements Harry hadn't thought it worth attempting to articulate to anyone his unspoken desire to serve his country. Somehow he'd just known that this was the most fulfilling vocation he could think of, although he couldn't explain why. If he'd been asked he would have assumed that Jane Townsend with her model girl looks and pithy turn of phrase was headed for a career in media or PR so when her heard her declaim to general astonishment that she wanted to teach, and not in the private system at that, his jaw nearly dropped. Barracked about her choices Jane's face had lit up with vehemence insisting that she wanted to make a difference to those who hadn't had her chances. As she faced down the mockery, lambasting one and all for their snobbery, he'd recognised in this gorgeous girl a kindred spirit infused with a sense of intense purpose that matched his own. From that moment he'd pursued her relentlessly, that she disliked him had merely added to the sense of challenge, it had taken him two months to persuade her to date him, and even longer to get her into his bed, a record of female resistance that she had held until ... well... Jane however was continuing to speak.

"That wasn't even the worst, we were told that disciplining and criticising the clients damaged their self esteem so we must always be positive. On one occasion the only positive thing I could say about a pupil was that she'd attended one third of my classes, on another that he'd ceased belching when spoken to."

Harry found it impossible to imagine Jane the arch disciplinarian surviving in that scenario.

"Why didn't you give in your notice?"

"I'd decided to try and stick it out in the hope that OFSTED would intervene but then," she halted for a moment before continuing, "Finally one of the yobs backed me up in a corridor and objected to the mark I'd given his GCSE controlled assessment, he wanted me to agree to up it - with a knife at my throat as a persuader."

"Christ what did you do." Few knew better than Harry just dangerous that situation could be or how fatal... _knife or glass could have the same effect_. His drifting thoughts were recalled by Jane's voice.

"I was terrified so I kicked him in the nuts and legged it – but of course no witnesses, no mark on me and substantial bruising on him."

In the pause that followed Harry asked, "CCTV, they do have it in schools surely?"

"Disabled as an affront to the human rights of the pupils. The only evidence was the bruising on the pupil and no witness to back me up so I was facing a disciplinary. I decided that I wasn't going to go quietly and threatened a counter claim for constructive dismissal. The Head didn't want bad publicity, the pupil didn't want to press for assault because the photos of the damage would have been produced in court, proving that his brain wasn't the only undersized part of his anatomy. Finally I was allowed to leave with a reference and my professional reputation intact so it was win win, except of course for the pupils who wanted to study properly."

Harry was still looking somewhat aghast at her tale. "God I wish you'd told me what you were going through."

"Why, what could you have done about it?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Sure about that are you?"

"Yes I am. And now."

"About two months later I was head hunted for a part time post coaching A level and talented GCSE pupils at a local independent school. It's well endowed so about one third of the pupils are scholarship. The school aims to get most of the pupils into Oxbridge, Russell or 1994 group. It suits my somewhat diluted ideals. "

"So why exactly are you in London?"

"One of the fathers who works in publishing saw some of my notes on his daughter's work. He liked the style and asked me to do some commentaries etc, and from there I've acquired other contacts, including eventually involvement in the cultural Olympiad as a schools representative. I was supposed to attending the reception later this week but I'll send in my apologies. I can't go partying in this state with this worry hanging over me.- Sorry us.

Harry amazed himself with the surge of pride he felt in Jane's recent achievements. He knew that she was underplaying the desolation she must have felt when almost deprived of her career. He was, after all, a man who regarded gardening as hell's torment for the underemployed. Not only was she passionate about her job, she was also damn good at it. He remembered briefly an occasion many years ago when she'd been pregnant with Graham and feeling somewhat nauseous. For once he'd been home and had volunteered to collect her from a Parents' Evening. Waiting for her outside the school hall he'd overheard at least three sets of parents praising her approach and enthusiasm to the skies as they left.

His amble down memory lane was disturbed by the sound of Jane asking hesitantly, "Harry you're not trying to hide anything from me are you?"

"About Catherine no, I promise you that. But state secrets..."

"Are secret, I know."

Any further conversation was disturbed by a worried looking Dimtri knocking and entering Harry's office simultaneously.

"Harry I've just had a call from the plods. Don't ask me how but someone broke into the flat, they killed a police officer before running." Harry could tell from Dimitri's expression that there was something else, "And?"

Dimitri swallowed hard before looking Harry firmly in the eye, "Whoever it was managed to get away with Catherine's laptop."

Harry's eyes flew to Jane and realised that she had instantly understood what Dimitri was implying. Her words, when they came, were a statement not a question:

"So if they are prepared to kill, Catherine really is in danger isn't she Harry."

_**For those readers who don't have knowledge of the English education system I should mention that most of the points Jane waxed lyrical about have been either discussed or implemented somewhere. I don't know of any school however that has actioned them all. OFSTED is the national inspection body charged with checking the performance of schools. **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Many thanks for the lovely reviews which are much appreciated. Harry discovers that he might have yet another problem as Jane and the team get to know each other.**_

* * *

_Still the Grid 10.30am approx_

Looking at Jane's frightened face Harry longed to reassure her to the contrary but he knew better than to waste his time denying the truth of her words. One of Jane's greatest professional attributes was a finely tuned crapometer, used to fine effect in the tracking down of recalcitrant pupils, the challenging of anyone foolish enough to utter a woolly academic statement and, unfortunately for him, in the dissection of his own philandering falsehoods. He had absolutely no reason to assume that her lie detecting skills had suddenly deserted her**. ** Instead, aware that his temper was on the rise, he turned to Dimitri to ask menacingly, "What do you mean you've no details?"

Dimtri was eyeing his boss cautiously. He recognised the expression on Harry's face,he'd first seen it on Erin's face a few months previously when Rosie had been kidnapped. The last time anyone in the team had seen Harry look so vulnerable was the day he'd reappeared on the Grid a week after Ruth's funeral. The quiet despairing agony etched upon his features when he had returned from seeing her name on the weeping wall had eventually burnt itself out**, **to be replaced by a face as impassive as granite**. **Privately the team had begun to wonder whether Harry remained capable of any personal feeling beyond that of numb. Now, Dimitri thought, they had the answer. For the second time within months Harry's private and professional lives were combining, and that merger had apparently provided the key releasing him from the emotional Arctic he'd been inhabiting. Recalling the errors Harry had previously made due to his differing but ambivalent involvements with Lucas/Bateman and Elena Dimitri wasn't sure that this was an entirely desirable development. Harry's judgement might be less impaired if his emotions remained in a state of cryogenic suspension**. **Realising that a fuming Harry was still awaiting an answer Dimtri chose his words with care.

"From what I've been told the forensic team had finished and had just left, leaving two policemen on guard until we arrived. One at the front, one at the back. The intruder broke in from the back. The policemen there was knocked to the ground and injured. It would seem that the officer at the front heard the noise, went into the flat, tried to stop him and was killed. They don't know if the culprit was armed, the officer was thrown against the wall and killed by impact, they think he hit his head on the corner of the coffee table."

Harry was incandescent**, **the roar of his voice reverberating across the Grid made the staff outside his office relieved that they weren't the unfortunate in the line of Pearce fire, "so now a life has been lost unnecessarily, plus a major clue, not to mention time. This was planned. Someone knew exactly when security had been reduced."

Dimiti, having mentally filtered out the white noise to consider the content of Harry's words, hesitantly suggested, "A stakeout?"

"Possibly. Or a leak. It seems likely now that someone definitely knew when the CCTV was turned off. We need to get there quickly, but perhaps I should change first."

"I'm not sure that the police will be ready to give us access after the latest incident, they'll need to investigate further."

Harry had really lost it as he yelled, "No choice. PC Plod can return to the beat, ever assuming that finding his way back there doesn't exceed his level of competence."

Jane coughed. She'd been watching this exchange with interest. If you weren't the designated victim Harry in a volcanic temper was an awesome sight, although not exactly easy on either eye or ear. As his face flushed with a colour that beautifully completed the walls of his office she idly wondered as to its potential label on a decorator's shade card, '_Pungent Puce'_ perhaps or possibly '_Tantrum Tomato'_. When she'd first been ushered into his office she'd been puzzled as to why it was painted in such a delightfully unrestful shade of scarlet. That mystery was now solved: some thrifty soul in maintenance must have concluded that this was the most cost effective way of disguising the bloodstains created whenever the enraged Section Head splattered some erring spook against the walls. She could only presume that the glass panels overlooking the Grid were shatterproof. Which, she debated to herself, was the more perilous mission, the confronting of terrorists in the field or the conveying of unwelcome tidings to Sir Harry Pearce?

Responding to her discreet cough Harry realised what she was about to say. Hoping to head off the unreasonable request poised on her lips Harry pleaded, "Jane don't ask. You're not a field officer. I'm not taking you with us."

Jane wasn't about to be relegated to the sidelines yet again. She'd had enough of that when they were married and much good it had done her. "No Harry this isn't your choice, she's my daughter as well. Besides which I can help. Have you been in her flat?"

"Not recently, no?" It hurt Harry to make the admission. Catherine was the only member of his family he had spoken to for years, prior to the events of the previous evening, and even that contact was usually confined to the occasional lunch. Since Ruth's death he hadn't seen her. Catherine was observant and had inherited his talent for interrogation. She'd have realised that something was wrong and would have dug away until she uncovered his personal secrets. It was the skill that had made her such a rising star in her chosen profession. Harry didn't want to lie to his daughter, he'd done that too often and too damagingly to his family in the past, but neither did he want to reveal his recent sorrows to anyone. Once he began to unburden himself he knew that he would cry without ceasing, even worse he might break down entirely. The image of him broken and destroyed by guilt was not a face he wanted to present to anyone, least of all his daughter**. **He had wept in those few minutes during which he'd held and despairingly kissed Ruth's still warm body knowing that the eyes which had gazed at him so lovingly a few short moments before were now closed to the world forever. Then the ensuing events had conspired to prevent the any further tears from falling. He was adamant in his determination that they would now remain unshed for all time.

Jane refrained from comment, Dimiti was present and privately she was just as anxious as Harry to keep the degrading details of their failed marriage between themselves. Instead she confined herself to asking, "So how will you know what's missing?"

Forced to concede her point Harry fell back onto his default position of firm negotiation. "If you come it is only subject to certain conditions. Namely you go with Erin, after Dimitri and I have had a chance to see the lie of the land. Also if I say you have to leave, you leave and no arguing, I'm not having your safety or that of my team compromised through your being stubborn." _'I can't and I won't go through that again, even though we hate each other._'

Jane knew that tone, no argument would be allowed but that didn't mean that she wasn't curious. Given his keenness not to risk her revealing their shared past his instructions had rather surprised her. "Agreed, but why do I need to follow on afterwards rather than go with you?"

"You heard what we said. Someone may be watching and I want to check out the area first with Dimitri. Please Jane, you've already had one close call. I wouldn't forgive myself if anything further befell you."

Nodding at Dimitri Harry gave his orders, "Can you tell Erin that she'll be needed. Also contact the police and find out about the officer who was killed. You can assure them that we'll do everything they would do and more to find the guilty party. And as I'm going as a senior field officer I'll need the appropriate equipment."

Dimtri torpedoed out at speed, sending up silent prayers of thanks to Jane for distracting Harry. He was also amazed at her temerity in questioning Harry's decisions. Not even Ruth had ever managed to do that without provoking a row, even more astoundingly Harry had GIVEN IN with hardly any argument!

As Dimtri exited Harry leant towards an unobtrusive cupboard in the corner of his office, opening its door to reveal a selection of spare clothes. Turning to Jane he made a gesture towards the Grid.

"If you'd excuse me Jane, I need to change."

"Do you have anything I haven't seen before?"

"Apart from some extra scars and a spare tyre no."

"Time was when stripping off in front of me wouldn't have been a problem."

"And time was when you'd have been ripping my clothes off for me. Can I remind you, Lady Godiva, that you weren't too keen on me seeing you '_au naturel'_ last night."

"So why should you let me play Peeping Tom? Fair point. We probably both look better with our clothes on these days. But why change anyway?"

Harry sighed, Jane had slotted so easily into the Grid meeting he'd temporally forgotten that her knowledge of trade craft was limited to the point of non-existence. While he had every intention of curtailing her involvement in the operation to as bare a minimum as he could contrive she still needed to be educated quickly for everyone's sake**. **Due to the Service's tendency to frown upon the prospect of publishers producing self-help tomes entitled _Counter Terrorism for Dummies'_ ,'_Teach Yourself Spying'_ or even '_The Joy of Espionage'_ the gruesome task of trying to teach a teacher fell to him. Here beginnith the first lesson then.

"Jane, as it is possible that someone is watching the flat we want to drive past unobtrusively. The sight of me in suit and tie lounging in the back of a government car might be a bit of a giveaway."

Now he'd explained Jane could have kicked herself for her failure to comprehend something so obvious, but his words served to remind her of another issue that was becoming pressing, at least as far as she was concerned, "Speaking of clothes. Harry I hate to sound frivolous but..."

"Jane you are never frivolous." Before she could look too gratified Harry added, "pedantic, waspish, sarcastic, witty, analytical, sexy or you used to be, but frivolous and fluffy no – I couldn't have even contemplated marrying you if you were."

"So that's where I went wrong. Anyway requesting very, very nicely Sir Harry in my best non fluffy, non frivolous style can you please ask the terribly nice inefficient policemen if anything remains of my handbag. I need to do something about getting hold of my own clothes."

"Don't worry Jane. I can always send an officer to your home to select a few garments."

"If you don't you'll soon be running out shirts. I'd rather go myself but if you do send an officer could it be a female?"

"I suppose so, but why?"

Jane's face eloquently displayed an '_Honestly men_" look as she blurted out in exasperation, "For goodness sake Harry, I don't fancy a strange man rummaging through my underwear."

Harry, repressing the unchivalrous reflection that this might not be totally unique experience for her, responded with, "Let's see later. I could send an officer with you. Tell Erin or Dimitri that Laura Dixon is to be ready to journey into darkest Oxfordshire, possibly with you."

"But I've no house keys."

Harry raised his eyebrows slightly by way of reply. "Of course. Silly me. MI5, defenders of the realm, scourge of terrorists and house breakers on the side.

"You said it. Incidentally Jane judging by the glimpse I had of your legs last night you don't need to worry too much about switching the light off, but I do, so would you please? "

"Pity I could do with a good laugh."

"I think we're a little old to be playing I'll show you mine if you show me yours...so go."

"I'll see you in a few minutes then – clothed." Having made this final rejoinder Jane meandered out of his scarlet and glass sanctuary and out onto the main Grid.

Harry waited for a few seconds to be certain that she wasn't going to reappear. As he pulled his office blinds shut prior to stripping off he noticed her standing on the Grid chatting to his team. By sheer accident she'd positioned herself in the area that he still thought of as Ruth's place**.** It gave him a strange sense of dislocation, his two different pasts with two very different women colliding and overlapping in the present. As he pulled his tie from his neck and began to unbutton his shirt it occurred to him that he'd forgotten just how much fun Jane could be**, **for a few precious moments at least, they'd sparred like old friends united by affection, not estranged spouses parted through mutual hatred. Harry knew that he'd made a complete mess of his personal life. Years ago an infuriated Ros Myers had, in a statement stinging with truth, described his entire existence as a '_walking disaster zone'._ He'd accepted the internal scars he carried from his past as a necessary evil, the inevitable accompaniment to choices that he'd never really regretted making, despite the personal pain they'd lead to. Now, as he heard the sound of Jane laughing with his staff, the lines from a half forgotten poem floated unbidden into his mind, the one about '_The Road_ _Not Taken'_. If he could go back which road would he take? He'd chosen the '_one less travelled by'_ the one that seemed at him at the time as '_having perhaps the better claim'_ and in doing so had turned his back on Jane and ordinary domesticity. Hard on that thought came the ever present guilt that while he was travelling his road of choice he had made decisions that had stuffed up not just his own life but also those of Jane and their children, and then there had been Ruth... always Ruth just lurking in the shadows of his mind. Which now stood as his worst personal reproach? The damage he'd done to the woman he'd loved and married, the woman now chatting outside, whose affection had turned to loathing because of his actions, or the damage to the woman he'd loved, who had loved him in her turn and died in his arms, again as a result of his actions, believing that _'we weren't meant to have those things_**'.** But if he'd taken that alternative domestic path he'd never had known Ruth. Would that have been even worse, never to have known her despite the unspoken hurt and guilt that stalked him every waking day and haunted his dreams at night? '_Better to have loved and lost'_ etc. Now, heaven help him, he was beginning to mix up his poets. Pulling on a pair of casual trousers he decided that such agonised ramblings weren't helping anyone, especially since he was now irretrievably immured in the '_somewhere ages and ages __hence'_. Collapsing, or in another fine phrase coined from Ros '_emotional incontinenc_e' was not an option, it never really had been for him. His return to the Grid had proved that. He couldn't go back and the very least he now owed to Ruth's memory was to make the best possible choices he could in the future, ever assuming he knew what they were. And why on earth was he quoting poetry to himself anyway? It must be the baleful influence of the English literature obsessive currently awaiting his reappearance and, he had little doubt, the next round in their verbal boxing match.

* * *

When a few minute earlier he'd seen Dimitri practically running out of Harry's office Calum had enquired by way of greeting, "Survived Macca and Mills then, or should that be Punch and Judy?"

"Just about. Anyway Erin has the pleasure of taking Jane to Catherine's flat."

Erin put her head in her hands as she groaned at Dimtri, "Oh God, does this mean we're caught in the middle of a marital?"

"Hardly. They're not married, at least not any longer, remember."

"Even worse. I don't recall anything in training about how to deal with this situation. At this rate we'll all be raiding Harry's whisky stash."

"You two ought to consider it as practise for maritals." Calum ducked quickly as Erin flung a file at him, while Dimitri muttered in a spirit of honest enquiry, "Why on earth did they ever marry in the first place?"

Calum interjected, "Wrong question."

Dimtri stared at him before replying, "And the correct one is?"

"Why the hell did they split?"

"Eh!"

"Listen I know we all liked Ruth and we all wish that they'd sorted themselves out before...well ...before... but just look at Jane, she's feisty, intelligent, and well read. You don't get on that Bardfest committee through being an airhead with an intimate knowledge of Okay magazine. For starters I bet she knows all about that Coriolanus bod Harry keeps mentioning." While the other two gazed at him, stunned at such a long speech from the normally succinct Calum he added, "and don't tell me she wasn't a looker with those big grey eyes and that light auburn hair."

Erin, whose own eyes had looked sceptical at the start of this utterance, suddenly acquired a slight glint of jealousy as she hastened to enlighten Calum as to the nature and function of hair dye. Meanwhile Dimitri was pondering Calum's words as he reconsidered the events of a few moments previously.

"Erin unlikely as it may sound, our relationship expert here could be right – I've just seen her argue Harry down, he even had to plead with her, how often does that happen? And she does look pretty good for a woman who's nearly Harry's age. Underneath that shirt I'd guess she's still got a figure that would have him groping for his opera glasses." Noticing that Erin's expression had veered from Calum towards himself and was shaded to include a wide eyed look of warning Dimtri hastily added, 'It's just an observation."

A little too late he realised that Erin's glare was not solely the product of the green eyed monster as a quiet voice behind him said softly, "It's well to be seen, or rather heard, that you've been trained by Harry."

Whirling round to see Jane directly behind him Dimitri felt highly embarrassed, as did Calum and Erin. The alarmed expression on their faces reminded Jane forcibly of a group of sixth formers caught smoking behind the bicycle sheds. The sight of three such highly trained operatives terrified by the boss's ex made her laugh out loud, "Don't worry I won't tell Harry. When you hit your fifties being described as 'fit' is quite a compliment." '_Not mention the pleasure of annoying a woman half my age. The Glamour Girl of the Grid looks fit alright, fit to spit.'_

All three visibly relaxed as Dimitri said, nodding towards the now blinded office windows, "And Jane – can I thank you for drawing Harry's fire?"

Jane, in the mood to be slightly mischievous, smiled warmly at Dimitri, '_That should get Ms MI5's goat'_ "That's alright. I know what Harry's like when he's off on one. Wanting to choke him is an ex-spouse's prerogative."

As she looked at him a pang hit her, so young, so handsome and about the same age as her own son. Oh God, Graham was yet another issue she didn't want to update Harry about. Pushing these thoughts away she continued, "Erin, Harry said can you tell Laura Dixon to be ready to either go to my home, either with me or on her own. I need to get some clothes that fit, at the moment I look like a walking advertisement for the Vagrancy Act."

To Jane's confusion the three spooks broke into a simultaneous smirk forcing her to enquire, "Em ... what's up?"

"I'm not sure we should say but – ." Erin decided to spill the beans. She hoped that in doing so she'd made an accurate assessment in respect of Jane's sense of humour and spirit of discretion. If she was wrong and Jane blabbed to Harry they could all be in trouble. "Okay Jane. A few weeks ago Harry overheard Laura referring to him as the '_last of the dinosaurs'_ she doesn't know this and is now wondering why she gets the ..err..."

Jane finished for her, 'The worst assignments he can produce – how very flattering. What's he got planned for her next week. Staking out the sewers of London?"

"Quite possibly yes. Actually Calum's lucky Harry didn't hear his reply."

"Well?"

"I told her that when the dinosaurs were around they did a lot of indiscriminate damage trampling on smaller fry."

To Erin's relief Jane chuckled with obvious amusement. "True, although personally I've always thought he's more like a V1 bomb. You know makes a horrible row, goes deadly silent and then kaboom you don't know what's hit you."

Harry emerging from his office was confronted by the sight of all four of them choked by paroxysms of laughter, which was as unexpected as it was suspicious.

"Well, I see you got your laugh Jane – a joke I can share?"

Some explanation was required, while his staff were still trying to come up with one that might just pass muster, Jane, thinking on her feet, hastened to reply, "I was just telling them a tale about one of my colleagues, a detention and some superglue."

Looking at all three heads nodding in surprised agreement Harry decided not to enquire further. It might have been true but somehow he doubted it. Jane looked the picture of innocence, not a good sign. If she could tell when he was lying he could do likewise. For the first time it occurred to him that he could inadvertently have introduced onto the Grid an even more ominous stumbling block to his personal respect agenda than Jane's potentially lurid revelations about their married life. His team seemed to be unbending towards her, even treating her as one of themselves. The more likeable they found her the more they'd probably begin to wonder what sort of shitty deal he'd given her to make them so estranged – the difficulty being that they'd be right. With a perspective produced through age and an increasing sense of emotional isolation he could now see clearly how appallingly he'd treated her. By her sheer temporary presence Jane was forcing him into some very uncomfortable reappraisals of his life and behaviour. '_Enough of this Pearce, you're the boss so do your job._'

"Mr Reed, can you continue with the tasks I set earlier? I appreciate it's a heavy workload, use junior officers if absolutely necessary. Mr Levendis did you get the equipment I need? No I thought not, then I'll collect it on our way out. Jane, Erin you will follow on behind us, about ten minutes later, no nearer, everyone clear about that?"

Looking at the ensemble of spooks, was there a collective noun, '_a spy of spook_ _perhaps._' Jane began to appreciate why, despite never setting foot on the Grid before today, it felt so familiar. It carried within it the distinct atmosphere of a school in which the intelligent but unruly pupils were regularly chastised by a stern Headmaster. In a different milieu she could just picture a begowned Harry, eyebrows bristling beneath a mortar board as he barked, "_Detention Levendis for ignoring orders, Ms Watts remind me about the ruling relating to short skirts? And as for you Reed, five hundred lines for impertinence_.'

Before she could fantasise further Harry's voice brought her back to reality, "Jane, I don't know what you're grinning at, but if you're coming kindly follow us to the pods, unless you've something better to do, such as deconstructing '_The Taming of the Shrew_.'

"Actually Harry given your temper I think '_The Tempest'_ is the more appropriate title at the moment."

Once the quartet had safely whooshed their way through the pods without threat of immediate return Calum called over to one of the junior officers.

"Laura, can I advise you to brush up on your Shakespeare?"

* * *

_**The poem part quoted by Harry was written by Robert Frost (1874-1963) and is called 'The Road Not Taken.' The other line comes from Tennyson's 'In Memoriam'. **_

_**Feel free to review if you have the time. **_


	8. Chapter 8

**Many thanks for the reviews which were and are appreciated. A longer chapter than intended. I promise to write a short one before I eventually end this story. **

_Into the Field? Approx Midday_

Having stepped out of the pods the group made their way through the rear corridors of the building down towards the basement car park**. **As they progressed Jane noticed that the walls they walked past becoming progressively plainer as sparkling clean colour gradually began to give way to subdued institutional shades. The spacious entrance hall she had crossed with Harry on their arrival and the broad, airy corridors they had walked along had been redolent with a grandeur that bespoke importance. The imposing atmosphere created by the rich decor throbbed with an air of leadership, implying that these hallowed precincts were traversed only by those in authority, complete with the intimation that the head spooks were trustworthy individuals, the upright possessors of impeccable moral principles. The backstairs route she was currently trudging along seemed to have been reserved for the spying equivalent of seedy men in wrapped in dubious mackintoshes. It was certainly less comfortable physically. Not only were these surroundings depressingly unadorned but as the four of them reached the narrow metal stairs, for what she trusted was the final descent, a warning stab from her ankle made her hope that the abused joint would hold firm until they reached their destination. Pride alone meant that she wasn't going to wimp out though pain if she could avoid it. At the stairwell head Jane noticed that Harry had peeled off and was moving swiftly along a narrow corridor branching off from the staircase entrance. She hesitated for a moment not sure as to whether she should follow him. The slight contact of Erin's hand with the small of her back made her turn around.

Erin simply said, "This way Jane, Harry's just gone to collect some equipment. He'll join us in the car park shortly."

"I presume you mean a gun?"

Looking at the amazed expressions on her companions' faces Jane felt mildly irritated. Okay so she and Harry hadn't been the most together of couples, they'd always been two very distinct and independently minded individuals, but she would have thought that the existence of their two children provided a living hint that they had occasionally met up under the same roof**.** And honestly, did Erin and Dimitri really think that she was dim enough to have survived nine years of marriage to Harry without becoming aware of some of the facts of spying life – minor matters, such as it was dangerous and spies often carried weapons.

Finally staggering into the car park her instant impression was that it resembled the set of a very bad clichéd thriller. She half expected a dark, mysterious vehicle to roar through the entrance, turn with a squeal of wheels while a thug wearing black shades sprayed bullets indiscriminately at a fleeing target. The immediate reality was less stimulating, cold, dank and concrete with square grey pillars covered by peeling paint and the odd bit of ill spelt graffiti all squalidly enhanced by the distinct sour whiff of broken drains. The most thrilling action of the moment was initiated by Dimitri leading them towards two small, nondescript motors**. **Jane was no car connoisseur, tending to regard them as moving tin cans equipped with five wheels and, if she was very lucky, an efficient braking system but even she could see that these undistinguished vehicles were the work horses of the system. A greater contrast to the limousines she'd recently journeyed in with Harry couldn't have been designed. She now understood exactly why he had insisted on changing in order to blend in. Travelling in one of the cars she was currently surveying while dressed in his formal clothes would have made him look as obvious as an astronaut in a nudist colony**. ** Feeling the icy air seeping into her bones Jane seriously regretted her stupidity in failing to grab the jacket Harry had loaned her before leaving his office. The lightweight clothing she was wearing wasn't really adequate protection against the striking cold of the parking area. As she stood with Erin and Dimtri, neither of whom made any attempt to commandeer one of the cars, she assumed that they were waiting for Harry to rejoin them. Shivering slightly through a combination of freezing temperatures and aching injury Jane could only hope that he wouldn't loiter within the seductive warmth of the main building.

As if on cue no sooner had that accusatory thought rippled through her mind than she noticed him emerging from the entrance they'd walked through a few minutes previously. Watching him approach, dressed in dark blue casual gear, he reminded her vividly of the man she'd fallen in love with and married. In his current garb he also didn't look so very different from the man she'd finally lost patience with and flung out of their house on that summer's day so many years ago. The true stranger was the Harry who'd escorted her onto the Grid sporting the stuffed shirt and tie look, a requirement, she assumed, of his current lofty position. Nearing them he acknowledged her presence with a slight smile that inadvertently conjured from memory an uncomfortable fleeting recollection of happier times. Had loved him, had loathed him. How much more at ease she'd be if she could feel the real opposite of those emotions: total uncaring indifference. Maybe in the future she'd achieve that desirable state, but that future was distant. That future wasn't today.

To her surprise Harry handed Jane the coat she'd left behind. "I realised that you'd forgotten this so I went back for it." While Jane, touched by his consideration, was nodding her thanks Harry turned to Erin and continued "Erin any idea why Laura was sat with her head in the complete works of Shakespeare?" Before anyone could voice an answer to this conundrum Harry handed Dimitri a fairly sizeable holdall. Although Dimitri stared at it slightly he made no comment beyond, "All equipment obtained Harry?" as he secured it in the boot of one of the cars. Checking that Dimitri had the baggage safely stowed Harry turned back to Jane.

"Actually Jane I brought you something else as well."

As he spoke he pulled two gaudy plastic items out of his pocket with a flourish and held them towards her. Jane, staring at these excrescences, finally identified the objects as a pair of earrings, either that or a pair of small wind chimes.

"Harry you shouldn't have."

"Here Jane put them on." As he pushed them towards her Jane repeated her words in a more strident tone.

"I meant it. You shouldn't have."

"What Jane is the problem?"

"You mean apart from the fact that I wasn't born in Essex!"

For a couple of brief seconds an exasperated Harry wished she was one of his staff from whom he could have demanded instant unquestioning obedience**.** Instead he had to waste time embarking on yet another learning conversation, "Jane they have a tracker in them just in case we get separated. I doubt that the human carbuncles we're dealing with read Vogue magazine. We are undercover and your outfit is fine for the '_I'm trying to get hip with the kids look'_."

"The correct term Harry is cool. Use the word '_hip_' and you're instantly labelling yourself as a boring old fart."

Erin and Dimtri were jointly seized with a desire to laugh. Biting their lips in tandem they wondered when exactly anyone had last dared make the insult direct to Harry's face, correction, when exactly had anyone done that and lived to tell the tale**. **In common with all the spooks in Section D they approached Harry with a slight sense of awe. Jane, not bound by such reverential inhibitions, had unconsciously injected a sliver of black humour into the otherwise dour proceedings of the Grid.

Very, very reluctantly Jane took hold of the earrings, casting upon them a look of such distaste that Harry's heart soared. '_Revenge for that last remark was oh so sweet'_ He continued to chortle inwardly as he watched her slot them slowly into her earlobes where they dangled like a couple of mini chandeliers. Jane however made no further protest beyond that of, "I hope the wind doesn't get up. Lashed to death by earring isn't the most dignified way to go."

"Call it a sacrifice for Queen and Country."

With that Harry moved towards the car claimed by Dimitri.

"Dimitri you drive. Erin."

"Yes Harry I know, stay behind for ten minutes and then follow."

"Extend that to twenty."

Having issued his orders Harry sprang into the passenger seat at a speed that rather belied his years and Dimitri roared off and out of the carpark at a breakneck speed.

Once safely out of the car park Harry supplemented his previous instructions. "When we get there Dimitri, don't go straight down the road. Pull up just beyond the entrance and then pop out and look down it. If you don't see anyone or anything suspicious drive around the block and repeat the procedure."

Dimitri didn't need Harry to explain his reasoning. Recent events suggested that the property was under some sort of surveillance and apart from any other considerations their team included a civilian. As they travelled through the crowded streets Harry turning his face towards Dimitri asked, "How did you know about Jane's involvement with the cultural Olympiad?"

"Ah," Dimitri explained, "after last night's bomb we ran the usual checks on witness and victim against the Olympic searches, we've been doing that on everything recently and Jane's name popped up. I was slightly surprised as I'd heard that she'd remarried."

"I understand that she's been publishing commentaries of some sort so probably she's stuck to her maiden name for work purposes. She always did complain when we were married about having to subsume her personal identity."

Having been privy to some outline details that he'd not had time to ascertain Dimitri suspected that Jane's reasons might extend beyond those of simple identity issues but without proof positive he wasn't keen to intrude further into what was manifestly a very spiky relationship**.** Besides which operating on a '_need to know basis'_ was not solely Harry's prerogative, Jane also had a right to privacy until or unless her secrets impacted on the operation**. **That thought did however spur Dimitri into enquiring, "Harry I don't know how to ask this but...," he halted, poised to ask what could be classified as a delicate question.

Harry thought he knew what was coming and said wearily, "Just ask."

Dimtri swallowed hard, lost his nerve and chickened out, falling back onto his B question.

"If Jane's going to be around for a few days could I borrow her?"

"Whatever for?" '_Please do, if I'm really lucky you'll forget to return her.'_

"It's this cultural Olympiad – Harry every time I ask a question about security or suggest something that makes our life easier I come up against a barrage of arty speak. Now they want to do a presentation at the reception later this week, something called a promenade performance and the entrances and exits they want ... I could do with a translator, someone who knows the jargon and can suggest some sensible modifications that might just be listened to. But I don't want you to think..." Dimitri trailed off as he wondered how to finish his sentence diplomatically.

"Think what, that you're ganging up against me with my ex-wife. Dimitri, after the recent revelations about my hideous past I really don't think that Jane could diminish me any further in anyone's eyes. As for your request go ahead and ask her. If you need someone to cut through pretentious flapdoodle Jane's definitely your woman. Be warned though you'll need a dustpan and brush to sweep up the remains," as an afterthought Harry added, "and in answer to the question you really wanted to ask, no Jane doesn't know about my safety surveillance and she isn't going to either.

Privately Dimitri didn't think this was one of Harry's better decisions, Jane might just prefer the truth to further deceptions but he could appreciate that trying to explain the background pertaining to this particular situation, while simultaneously evading all mention of precisely the details that no man would want to voluntarily share with his ex, might tax even Harry's talent for obfuscation.

"She seems to be coping pretty well so far Harry."

"Seems may be the right word. She's never been inside my working world and I'd really prefer not to have her involved now. When we were married and certainly once Catherine was born I tried to keep her and the children out of the loop."

'_And is that why you finally split?_' Dimitri wondered, '_because your obsession with their safety meant that you began to lead separate lives_'. Then he remembered the threat to Rosie a few months ago and Erin's near hysteria**. **Maybe Harry had been right, the corollary of some of his more clandestine operations might well have been increased risk to those three lives. Perhaps family dysfunction was the price he'd paid to ensure that they all continued to breathe, even if, irony of ironies, they used that breath to curse him.

Had Dimitri but known it Harry's current reflections were not totally dissimilar. He'd never regretted his attempts to keep his family safe, a viable threat made when Catherine was only few months old had been a defining moment for him. But distancing his wife and then later his children from harmful intrigue had also meant distancing them from himself. With frequent necessary absences from his wife, lonely while presented with excitement and opportunity he'd embarked first on one affair and then another and another until they'd become a habit. He'd told himself then that what Jane didn't know wouldn't hurt her, that it was only sex and entirely separate from his officially sanctioned life with her and their children, so no real harm done to anyone. Except of course Jane had found out, had been bitterly hurt and when inevitably his failure to reform had stretched her patience to beyond breaking point she'd thrown him out. What did they say about the road to Hell? – Well his original good intentions had thoroughly paved that particular road for all four of them.

Before Dimitri could extend the conversation Harry nodded his head indicating that they had reached their destination. Pulling up the car as requested Dimitri slipped out and peered cautiously around the corner. A short way down the road he could see a bus shelter strewn with fragments of the usual urban litter and housing three occupants. One, a man in his late twenties, appeared to be lost to the world gazing at a device that Dimitri speedily identified as a Kindle. The other two were equally engrossed with each other. In different circumstances Dimitri might have considered running a book on where the male in the partnership was going to place his hands next. In the current situation he had to cut short this voyeuristic observation in the interests of reporting back to Harry. Returning to the car he duly stated, "Three people in the bus shelter, two snogging and one sitting reading. Doesn't look suspicious, other than if Romeo and Juliet get much more heated we could end up inadvertently dogging. I'm surprised though that anyone can concentrate on reading with that amount of heavy breathing going on beside them!"

"You obviously weren't married to Jane, get her head stuck in a book and the house could be burning down without her noticing. As the essence of surveillance is to look natural let's drive to the other side of the road and wait to see if they take the bus when it arrives. We'll be nearer Catherine's flat there."

Dimitri made to start the engine but stayed his hand when a bus trundled towards them, threw itself around the corner and squealed to a halt. Receiving a quick nod of permission from Harry Dimitri dashed back to the corner in time to observe a middle aged woman emerge from the bus and make her way over the road to her own residence. The young couple had apparently boarded the bus to continue their cavorting under cover, leaving the Kindle man still seated and seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

Returning to the car for the second time Dimitri looked to Harry for guidance although he did feel bound to suggest that, "more than one bus route might run here."

"Might but doesn't. When Catherine moved in I checked everything although she didn't – doesn't know that."

Dimitri noted the past tense and just prayed that wasn't going to become the reality. He really didn't think that Harry could cope with a second personal disaster within months. Despite the persistent rumours that Harry didn't give a toss about his estranged family Dimitri was increasingly disinclined to give them credence, certainly as far as Harry's children were concerned. Given the care he was also taking to ensure Jane's safety and comfort Dimitri rather suspected that Harry wasn't completely indifferent to her either, although whether that was owing to guilt, irritation or delayed chivalry wasn't something he felt qualified to judge.

Glancing at the older man he kept his worries to himself. The furrowed lines that had become a permanent feature of Harry's face over the past few months seemed more pronounced than ever as he sat scowling in deep thought. Dimitri wasn't going to interrupt this apparent reverie, Harry's field skills were legendary so he had little doubt that a plan was being formulated.

"Dimitri we need to get a photograph of that ebook worm but I don't want to break cover. If whoever is behind this isn't aware that I'm Catherine's father we have an advantage and if Erin's theory is correct I don't fancy giving myself up to the Cousins gift wrapped for Thanksgiving."

"So what do we do?"

"I have an idea and came prepared but first we need to drive a little further."

Putting the car into gear and following the directions given to him Dimitri drove to a street a short distance away and quietly waited for Harry to disgorge whatever scheme he had in mind.

"We need to get a picture without being noticed, so Dimitri I'll ring the police on duty at the flat pretending to be their superior while you change. You'll find the outfit in the bag I brought."

Dimitri walked to the back of the car, opened up the boot and unzipped the bag Harry had handed to him earlier. The contents when unwrapped revealed themselves as a policeman's uniform complete with concealing helmet. Harry caught Dimitri's quick glance at the CCTV prominently displayed on the nearby lamppost and hastily reassured him.

"You won't be doing a striptease for the benefit of ladies in the control room, much as that might irradiate their day. I checked and these cameras are off today. Now Dimitri the police guarding the flat, if guarding you can call it, will be expecting you so we'll drive back to our first stop. Then you can wander down the street and take a quick snap of our friend as you go. If he's moved take a picture of any possible replacement."

"And then?"

"Have a few words with the police at the flat, as if you've come with a query. You can let them know exactly what we need in the way of access. I'm not risking a leak by using my own name. I also want to know when they plan to remove the body. I really don't want Jane seeing that. Make it look genuine and then return here. We'll send the picture to Calum for an emergency recognition check."

* * *

After the two men set off Erin and Jane had strapped themselves into their car and prepared for the long wait. As the twenty silent minutes wore on Jane's expression became increasingly apprehensive. Glancing briefly at her enforced companion Erin wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. That she was intelligent was obvious but Erin, having worked with Ruth and knowing the tales circulating about Harry's previous affairs with a variety of high profile women, not to mention Elena, '_definitely not to mention Elena'_, couldn't envisage Harry ever bedding down for a long term relationship with a bimbo. Erin was well aware that Harry the husband might have been a bit different to Harry the self confessed workaholic boss. Even so, and especially now that she'd met Jane, Erin still had to wonder how the hell he'd manage to mess up his marriage so badly. It didn't take a genius to see that the pair had enough unresolved baggage to restock a warehouse. That however was the past, and despite her slight twinge of jealousy when Calum and Dimtri had expressed their approbation of Jane, in what Erin could only characterise as typically masculine terms, she thought she owed it to Harry and the team to at least attempt to smooth the prickly present on a woman to woman basis. Erin had to admit though that this endeavour was going to be somewhat hampered by circumstances. Jane might be a signatory to the Act but Erin had gloomily concluded that Harry's recent problems came under the heading of '_For No Eyes Only Forever_.'

Switching on the engine preparatory to setting off Erin decided to initiate a conversation based on the reasons for Jane's appearance on the Grid. As she steered the car into the main road she articulated what she hoped was a suitable opening gambit.

"I know how worried you must be Jane but you have one huge advantage in this."

"What's that?"

"Harry."

The sole reply was a sceptical snort followed by a silence that made hostile sound friendly. Regardless Erin gritted her teeth and tried to choose her words carefully as she continued. "Jane I don't have to know what went wrong with you and Harry, actually I don't want to know, it isn't my business after all."

"No it isn't."

"But what you need to realise is that Harry was possibly the most outstanding field officer of his generation. He's the reason so many people fight to get into Section D. Everyone knows that he doesn't ask his staff to do anything he hasn't done himself, most section heads are desk spooks with no idea of what actually goes on in the field, of the difficult choices we have to make, of the gut wrenching fear when the only thing that stands between you and disaster is your ability to think on your feet. If an operation goes badly wrong Harry doesn't shuffle the blame onto his staff, he takes the rap himself. That's rare. And he argues with politicians so much so I'm amazed they ever recommended him for a knighthood. '_I'm even more amazed he's kept it.' _

"He always gave himself to the job. '_Regnum Defende'_, but we needed him as well and he was never there, or hardly ever. He was away so much I sometimes think it's amazing that we managed to produce our two children."

The undertow of bitterness in Jane's words was unmistakeable. Erin knew a brick wall when she smashed into it and decided to change tack slightly. Thinking about it, would Erin herself relish being in Jane's situation, suddenly plunged back into an alliance with an ex-husband with whom she shared an angst ridden history? Erin could only assume that Harry's habit of damming up his emotions had played a leading part in the thorny road to divorce. She had seen this at its utter extreme in the immediate aftermath of Ruth's death. Even now she, a relatively hardened spy, shuddered at the thought of how fresh from kissing Ruth's body and with tears still streaming down his cheeks he'd managed to pull himself together sufficiently to do what Harry always did; put his own grief aside while with gritted teeth he forced himself into doing what he believed was necessary for the good of the state**. **Considering his subsequent actions if Erin hadn't seen the extremity of his distress for herself she'd have assumed that his veins were filled with ice water. Scrambling for a way to make Jane view Harry in a slightly more favourable light Erin settled for a more personal example**. **

"Shortly after I started in Section D I had to make a decision that let someone down badly. It really hurt, knowing that I'd used another person in that way. Harry called me into his office and offered me a whisky."

"Typical Harry behaviour – drink the pain away."

"With some of the decisions he has to make he probably needs anaesthesia at times. He reminded me that this job does involve making tough calls. I saw his face when he admitted to making decisions that had ruined the lives of people he cared for. He wasn't just talking about his team. '_At least I hope he meant you and his kids and not the Eastern European Ice Queen complete with evil eye._' Don't ever think that he doesn't feel guilt for the hurts he's handed out.'

"Perhaps he should have been saying that to me, or more importantly our children." As Jane uttered these words she wondered if Harry and Graham would manage to speak to each other ever again. Judging by what Harry had said about Graham's unrepeatable last message it seemed unlikely. In many ways Harry and Graham were too alike, with one significant difference, whereas Harry was driven by a sense of purpose, as indeed was Catherine, that particular gene seemed to have bypassed Graham with disastrous results. Then again that gene of purpose may now be the reason that Catherine was in danger. Catherine missing; Graham not talking; Harry and herself straining to be civil to one another. Any family therapist presented with the Pearce/Townsend quartet would be rejoicing at having obtained a job for life, either that or, faced by customer intransigence they'd quit within the hour and find an easier task, like converting Al-Qaeda to feminism.

"All I'm trying to say Jane is don't assume that because he presents to the world as a callous bastard that's what he actually is. It's a protective shell he uses but I suspect he probably feels much more than he shows and I'm sure he punishes himself every day of his life." '_Actually I know that he does, but since anyone who blows the gaff about Ruth and Elena will have their lives measured in nanoseconds I daren't go into detail.'_

"And if it was your child that had been damaged by his decisions would you be so forgiving?"

"It very nearly was. Last year a terrorist group kidnapped my daughter, she's nearly six, and threatened to kill her unless Harry let a suicide bomber self destruct in Trafalgar Square. Harry had no option, he had to put public safety first... Ru...Calum told me later that he ran a huge risk in leaving the kill order to the very last second to enable Dimitri to find Rosie." As Erin finished speaking she hoped Jane hadn't noticed her hasty substitution of names.

Jane had noted her stumble but filed it away for future consideration. She'd also registered the sudden increase in warmth in Erin's voice when she mentioned Dimitri, '_so sits the wind in that quarter, definitely not the mystery lady then.'_ Her more immediate reaction was one of horrific incredulity at Erin's final revelation.

"And you still work for him! I'll never understand the spook mindset."

"Then don't try. Just trust Harry. And Jane, be thankful you're not in the shoes of whoever has Catherine."

Jane's reply died on her lips as Erin's mobile began to buzz. Occupied behind the wheel Erin nodded her permission to Jane to pick it up.

Speaking apprehensively into the handset Jane asked with dubious inflection. "Yes. Harry, is everything alright?"

She could tell by the short pause followed by Harry's authoritative bark that everything was even less alright than she'd hoped.

"Jane, tell Erin to drive on and around the corner. She needs to park up three streets away, I'm sending directions to her now. I'm ordering her to wait for one of us to contact her."

"But why?"

Harry's reply was terse but to the point.

"Tell her confirmed eyeball of a rogue asset. Do not proceed until the asset is dealt with."

* * *

**Obviously to be continued. Please review if you have time. If I've not replied to any reviews received please do accept my abject apologies for my failure to do so. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to all who reviewed. This chapter examines the exciting places spies get to hang out in. **

* * *

_A snack bar in the field_

Harry may have chosen the cafe but that didn't mean he admired its grubby paint blistered exterior, but any port, however dubious,was passably adequate in the storm that seemed to be approaching. Once he'd received Calum's not very cheering Intel his immediate priority had been to repair to an anonymous spot where he and the two women could linger without attracting undue attention; a necessity given that he wanted Kindle man quietly and efficiently dislodged from his viewing station before they approached the flat en masse. Trade craft expertise told Harry that the requirement to appear inconspicuous limited his options for loitering with hidden intent. In practical terms, having made a thorough reconnaissance of the streets in the vicinity of Catherine's flat when she'd moved in, his most realistic choices rested between entering this deeply unattractive cafe situated in the middle of a small shopping centre or strolling aimlessly through the autumn chilled environs of the public park. Having taken note earlier that freezing air and possible injury aftermath had turned Jane a delicate but unflattering shade of blue Harry preferred the cafe. It offered the promise of some warmth and a seat, the latter also being a necessity given that Jane's ankle probably wasn't in a state suited to much outdoor meandering. As a mild additional incentive the frontage also boasted a small, useful car park. Upon arrival at this depressing locale Harry parked up and turning to Dimitri spoke in an authoritative tone designed to repel any argument.

"Back on with the helmet Dimitri and off to the flat again. You know what I've asked Calum to do, so just keep an eye out. If our quarry decides to make a move follow him, if you can. If not then contact Calum and ask him to divert Batman and Robin."

Dimitri, given the standing orders of the past few months, was somewhat alarmed by this instruction. He started to protest but hadn't got any further than an opening, "But Harry" before being peremptorily interrupted.

"Yes Dimitri I know all about Towers**' **over protective protection orders, I live with them remember, but you may also recall that the highly overzealous and totally unnecessary risk assessment concluded if that our Transatlantic friends are going to try any funny business it'll be surreptitious, not a reconstruction of the OK Corral in broad daylight.

"I know Harry but even so..."

Exasperated Harry pulled out his mobile and hit speed dial, "Calum how near to me are Erin and Jane?"

A rattling sound indicated that Calum was accessing his computer before replying, "About five minutes assuming that Jane didn't palm the earrings off onto a passing chav."

"Thanks – okay Dimitri. And yes I'm also wearing a tracker. Ex Boy Scout that's me, 'Be Prepared.'"

Dimitri strongly suspected that the majority of Harry's field activities would not have earned the endorsement of Baden-Powell or any other advocate of wholesome living. He might just have been made the grade as the role model for an updated Machiavelli rebooted with indeterminate morals. Somewhat mollified by the nearness of Erin and recognising that a civilian involved in an argument with a policeman in the centre of a shopping street did not make for the inconspicuous cover advocated in his _'Boy's Book of Spying_' Dimitri caved in. He strode away but, in a compromise designed to satisfy his conscience, lingered at the corner of the street for a couple of seconds to check that Harry had actually entered the cafe as promised. Satisfied that his peppery mooded boss wasn't planning to abscond on his own private trajectory as per Albany, Dimitri set off on his prescribed beat with a slightly easier mind.

Pausing on the threshold of the cafe Harry was instantly accosted by a wave of grease laden air carrying with it the acrid fragrance of burning fat. Confirmation that the interior was going to live down to his most pessimistic expectations was provided by his first glimpse of the furnishings. The red and white checked curtains were limp and tattered, while even the most cursory glance suggested that the chairs and tables were in need of a good rub down with disinfectant. The walls, whose original colour was indeterminate, were streaked with substances that Harry preferred not to analyse. In private as Sir Harry Pearce he'd be the first to admit that a little luxury was something of a lifestyle prerequisite, he felt it was a fully justified expectation given that the Service had deprived him of just about every other form of personal comfort. However field work undertaken in his distant youth had taught Harry that no spy could be afford to be fastidious when working undercover. If operational success depended upon him lurking in surroundings whose defining characteristic was chipped formica tables liberally scattered with the debris left behind by earlier diners then that was what Harry would do, he'd suffered worse in the defence of realm. Besides which, squalid as this place maybe it possessed two cardinal virtues, firstly it was near Catherine's flat and secondly it had the advantage of large windows which, even in their unwashed state, provided a satisfactory observation post. Although Harry had his own very specific reasons for setting foot in the place he retained his opinion that the majority of living entities, including a not very discriminating fly, would have passed by these appalling premises in favour of somewhere more salubrious. He was, therefore, amazed to discover that despite its horrible ambience he was not the establishment's sole customer. As was his engrained professional habit he began to sum up the current clientele which seemingly consisted of two elderly women, pensioners with bulging bags who'd obviously popped in for a refreshing post shopping chat, plus a middle aged mother accompanied by a whinging child who probably should have been in school. While none of them seemed likely to concern themselves with his party Harry was praying that the latter would depart before Jane arrived, otherwise the woman might find herself the unwilling recipient of his ex-wife's vitriolic diatribe on the specialist subject of positive parenting. Had Jane changed her views during the past two decades vis a vis parents who allowed their offspring to skip school and then weakly succumbed to every other nagging whine? He really really didn't want to be condemned to the ear bashing experience of listening to the updated version complete with its underlying condemnation of himself.** '**_You could take the school teacher out of the school but you_ _couldn't'._... if she did start declaiming he'd be tempted to nudge her with his gun as a hint to shut it, NOW.

Cover considerations dictated that he had to preserve his legend as someone who would happily eat and drink in this tatty establishment, therefore it followed that he needed to buy something he could consume as an excuse for lingering. The counter was manned by a bored teenager whose customer service skills proclaimed her to be an alumni of that well know educational institution, '_The Academy_ _of Am I Bovvered_**.' **If he'd been her boss Harry would have reduced her to a cinder within seconds but in his current persona her total lack of interest was an advantage: asked to describe him she'd just about manage to confirm that he was male, beyond that the rest would be silence. Surveying the prices board in conjunction with the appetising selection available he rejected the option of salmonella on a plate, cunningly masquerading as a hotdogs or burgers, and purchased, as the least obnoxious choice, a mug of a pale vague liquid that went under the optimistic appellation of coffee. Having picked up his drink he headed towards the rear of the premises. This positioning wouldn't be his ideal choice but the other customers were all seated near to the entrance door and at least his group would be situated near the emergency exit if a quick escape was dictated. This area was also out of the earshot of the cafe's other occupants and afforded a degree of privacy, which he judged to be vital. The information he had to impart was secret and while their clothing matched the venue's social standing Jane's outspoken Oxford educated tones most definitely did not, if overheard her voice could blow their cover instantly. As he lowered himself onto a chair he realised why the other customers were sitting within draught range of the entrance. The pungent odour emitted from the nearby toilets was overpowering. Regular inhabitants obviously chose to sit where they could be the thankful recipients of an occasional lungful of fresh air, courtesy of the infrequent openings of the door. How grateful Harry was that encroaching age had not so far affected his bladder control. Some aspects of working undercover had their limits and using the toilets in this dive would probably breach even his tolerance level. Sipping his drink Harry schooled his face not to wince. It was small compensation that the awful flavour ensured for certain that he would not be consuming liquid in quantities copious enough to force him into facing whatever horrors lurked in the urinals. In revenge for this gratuitous assault on his taste buds he was already contemplating a phone call to Trading Standards with specific reference to prosecution under the Trades Description Act.

Awaiting the arrival of Jane and Erin he realised that for the first time since the previous evening he was totally on his own for a few minutes, a precious window of repose through which to privately review the information relayed by Calum. Any hopes that the accurate identification of Kindle man would help to clear the muddy waters surrounding Catherine's whereabouts had vanished. That mud was now not only dark chocolate in colour but also was bidding to become shudderingly bitter in taste**. ** That the mystery surrounding her disappearance had deepened was troubling enough, but he also had Jane to consider. In view of their hitherto hostile relations she had surprised him by taking much that he had shielded her from in her stride, displaying an unexpected stoicism when suddenly plunged into a world she had only experienced in theory**.** At present he was struggling to remember which of those theories what he might have mentioned in the past; in particular had he ever made any reference to the general rule that if you had heard nothing relating to the whereabouts of a missing person within twelve to twenty four hours after they vanished they were probably dead? And how soon before Jane began to wonder if death might be a preferable fate to some that could have befallen their daughter? False assurances would be useless; Jane would see through them and Harry wasn't prepared to lie to her, he'd promised to be truthful and if they were to have any sort of future relationship...he pulled himself up short at that thought, future relationship with Jane! No chance, she'd made it clear over the years that, having finally escaped the travesty of their marriage, the only contact she was prepared to entertain was that relating to their children, preferably via a solicitor. Once Catherine and Graham had reached maturity, a distinctly age related concept with regard to Graham, even that nebulous connection had ceased. It was a dreadful indictment of their failed rapport that they had only been jerked into a semblance of civility courtesy of Jane's close shave with the bomb and mutual ongoing worry concerning their daughter's current location**.** Was Catherine was missing was because she'd been ploughing her own danger laden furrow and or was Erin correct in her implication that it was down to her parentage? The identification of the asset had left that one wide open. The bombing and laptop theft could be a setup intended to wrong foot him into hasty actions which would led to his irretrievable disgrace, imprisonment or even death. In fact, other than confirmation that Catherine was being watched, they hadn't really progressed and wouldn't until Kindle man was persuaded to talk. And talk he would Harry thought grimly, whatever it took. If harm came to Catherine because he was her father Jane would never forgive him. He wouldn't blame her for that. He wouldn't forgive himself if his daughter became a victim of his own twisted road, especially a road that was a legacy of his catastrophic foolishness in falling for Elena's duplicity.

Occasionally he wondered what his life would be like if he could be freed from the burden of crippling guilt he carried with him. He couldn't imagine existence without it. He'd borne it for so many years, concealing so many shadows that it was now woven into his very soul, a constant companion but no friend. In his darkest moments he wondered if retirement with Ruth would have released him from it or would he merely have enjoyed a brief respite before the demons returned again in the shape of the secrets he still carried. Would the worry that he might betray even her have eventually begun to lap at the shores of their contentment? Harry and the Service: Jane had once screamed _'The Service is your bloody bride. You treat me like a mistress, on the edge of your life used for tea, sympathy and fucking on demand._' He'd denied that, of course he had – '_he was simply protecting his family wasn't he'_ - but now as he took stock of his life he recognised her words as carrying a partial truth. Without ever intending to he'd neglected and exploited the affection of everyone who was important to him, destroyed them as surely as in many ways he'd destroyed himself and yet still he stayed on, an increasingly disillusioned and grizzled survivor in the very job that had damaged everyone he had ever cared for. He could see himself objectively: a man with nothing beyond work, trapped and culpable, clinging to his post as a barnacle might cling to a life raft, staying to compensate himself for his empty life. Harry didn't scare easily but he was terrified of what he might become in retirement. Earlier personal traumas had taken him dangerously near to alcoholism and his once longed for Grand Tour...too many thoughts of what might have been to even contemplate. So what could he do now? He still breathed, he still believed he could make a difference and he still needed some reason for living, or at its most fundamental a reason to get up in the morning.

The sound of footsteps made him realise that he'd been so absorbed in his maudlin thoughts '_could he blame the foul coffee?'_ that he'd missed the arrival of the two women. He was slipping, but at least it wasn't anyone who wanted to kill him... not yet anyway. Erin had entered trailing Jane in her wake. Observing the pair, now waiting at the _'lack of service_' area, as a stranger might, Harry's heart was wrung. Both were attractive, even in her late fifties Jane could still turn the head of the discerning male, but not when garbed in the body swamping clothes that made her resemble one of Worzel Gummidge's more confused girlfriends. If the contrast with the immaculately made up, well groomed and smartly dressed Erin was distressing to him he hated to think what it was doing for Jane's self esteem. Watching the women closely Harry decided that whatever shape events took once they'd finally managed to search Catherine's flat Jane was going to be reunited with an improved wardrobe. She was currently residing under his roof, under his protection and, much as she would baulk at the notion, he felt responsible for her. If raiding Jane's home for her usual feminine attire proved impossible then she was going to borrow his credit card, even if he had to march her to the shops himself at gunpoint. Jane's prospective reaction to him accompanying her on a knicker hunt made him smile wryly – he knew her well enough to know that she'd be torn between going ballistic, feeling unpleasantly beholden and simple relief at the prospect of dressing normally. With luck the latter emotion would prove to be a more effective persuader than the firearm currently nestling in his jacket pocket.

Having finally succeeded in buying a drink apiece from '_Miss Customer Service 2011_'and honing in on his presence the two women approached and sat down gingerly beside him. Assessing the glories of their surroundings Jane wrinkled her nose in distaste at the fetid stench emanating from the nearby facilities before commenting sardonically, "I can see why Pussy Galore passed this one up."

Harry's lips twitched slightly, "As your students would say. Welcome to our glamorous world, not." Leaving Jane to digest this remark and conscious of that the twenty four hour clock was ticking away inexorably Harry turned to Erin saying in hushed tones.

"Erin we've identified the man sitting watching the flat as Nick Garside. He used to be one of our assets."

Erin looked puzzled, "I haven't come across him."

"You wouldn't. He was handled by Beth Bailey. We didn't have exclusive rights. Six sometimes used him but just before Beth's departure she tagged him as unsafe – the CIA had also got to him. We burnt him as an asset but kept him on file in view of his possible involvement with the Cousins."

Erin bridled slightly at Harry's words. Beth Bailey was a subject they did not agree upon. Her somewhat hasty decommissioning by Erin had resulted in a degree of chaos when it was discovered that several of Beth's more valuable assets had mysteriously vanished from the database. Having been responsible for Beth's appointment Harry had never totally bought into Erin's claim that Beth's professional standards were wanting. More than once he'd wondered whether Beth's friendship with Dimitri had influenced the speedy presentation of her P45. Even Harry, absorbed as he had been with the problems, personal and professional, created by the aftermath of Ros's death had noticed that Dimitri's arrival on the Grid had coincided with the female members of the section suddenly sporting vaguely provocative clothing while simultaneously discovering excuses to parade themselves in the vicinity of the new recruit. Inevitably though Dimitri and Beth working on the same cases and on the same pay grade had been thrown together - and then came Albany, Erin and Beth's precipitate removal. Harry's leisurely speculations regarding the more intimate entanglements of Section D were waylaid by Jane who'd been trying to process the implications of Calum's information.

"Harry have I got this right – our daughter is being watched by either Five, Six, the CIA or anyone else who bought this man?"

"Got it in one Jane. So we need to bring him in but as quietly as possible."

Before Jane could query that statement Harry expanded the topic –"If he's being used by someone else we don't want them to know we're wise to this – although they might guess anyway. Possibly we can turn him to our advantage."

Jane meanwhile remained puzzled. "Harry, are you actually saying that this man might be employed by your own side to spy on Catherine?"

Harry was briefly reminded of times past when he'd very occasionally managed to spend what he believed was now referred to as quality time with his children. As he recalled a predominant phrase had been, _'Why, why, why Daddy'._ He bitterly regretted that he'd not been in a position to hear those words that more often but now he seemed to be making up for it with Jane and '_Harry, Harry, Harry'_. Very well Jane, '_Are you sitting comfortably, now I'll begin'_. No, he rebuked himself, he was being horribly unfair to her. Her confusion was a salutary reminder that he'd worked in this profession for so long that trust in anyone, especially sometimes in his own side, was almost a foreign notion. Jane as an outsider was understandably struggling to understand a crooked occupation whose fundamental concept of, _'I spy with my little eye something beginning with S'_, would produce a response along the lines of, '_someone on my own side spying on me to make sure I'm spying correctly on someone else who is in turn spying on them spying on me_.' Small wonder then that so many of his colleagues ended their careers either burnt out, or moonbathing amongst the daisies at Tring.

"We really don't know, that's why we need to get hold for him. Erin I've sent for Batman and Robin to casually remove him from the street and escort him back to Thames House – I'm sure the minimal charms of the basement cells will work their magic, failing that try my name. Dimitri, fully disguised as PC Plod, is at Catherine's with the police guard. I want you to drive to the shelter end of the street and watch out for our people. No need for you or Dimitri to get involved unless the quarry makes a break for it. Just supervise and watch. Let me know when he's been removed and I'll bring Jane round to the flat.

Erin looked a little uncertain at this. "Harry should you be on your own?" Before Harry could respond once more to this tedious question respecting what he considered to be excessive precautions Jane, indignant at being reduced to the status of the Invisible Woman, chipped in, "Excuse me."

"Sorry Jane, I meant without a colleague to back up."

"Don't worry Erin. If anyone comes in Jane can glare them to death, failing that I'll offer them this coffee. Now go, I need access to the flat and I've got to see Towers in about an hour and a half."

Erin departed wondering, as Dimitri had before her, whether she was doing the right thing. Defying Harry to his face having proved impossible she compensated for this annoyance making an executive decision to ignore his first instruction and drove to the street entrance nearest to the flat, parked a little way from the corner and, reluctant to break cover, rang Dimitri.

"Hi D. Can you make an excuse and walk round the corner?"

Nothing loath he shortly appeared grinning broadly at the sight of her, dark hair blowing in the light wind, smiling back at him as she greeted him with, "Hi everything okay ?"

"Yes, more or less. They've taken the body away which was concerning Harry so we're just waiting for the lift. Why Batman and Robin? Did he say?"

Erin thought for a moment, Harry hadn't actually explained his reasons, but then did he have to? "I think he thought they'd blend in best with the scenery. I'm just waiting for them to appear. I should go and watch our friend but I wanted an update from you first and didn't want to risk a call being tracked. Have you seen anything?"

The sight of her gazing at him made Dimitri felt flattered. Erin was a great one for playing everything by the book and here she was disobeying Harry's orders just to see him. "Not really – he seems slightly twitchy as if he wants to move but is tied for some reason. Perhaps waiting for a relief? How did you get on with Jane?"

"Not sure. I honestly can't make up my mind about her and Harry. Sometimes they seem to be on the same wavelength, then they start baring their teeth at one another. I'm hoping they conclude that one murder in the day is enough. I've had to leave them to it."

"What despite instructions!" Dimitri was stunned.

Nettled by his accusatory tone Erin reminded him, "You left Harry as well."

"Only when Calum told us you were about three minutes away. And in this gear I wasn't exactly obscure, if we'd argued any longer I'd have had to pretend to arrest him to keep my cover."

"Yes well with Jane there I couldn't exactly start a row could I. Knowing Harry he's done it deliberately. Remember how he kicked off in the first place at being coddled. Like Jane said he made a horrible noise and then went quiet."

"Don't tamper with quotation. As I recall his exact words were that if he wanted a nursemaid he'd have drafted in Mary Poppins not Batman and Robin who were in nappies when he was sorting out the Cold War. I just hope he doesn't go kaboom with the wrong people. That's the reason he's in this mess to begin with."

"I know. Why do you think I sneaked to Towers? I didn't fancy prancing around the woods in a balaclava again. It played hell with my hair."

Dimitri was still genuinely troubled in view Harry's statements a little earlier, "Harry might be dubious about the likelihood of the threat but I'm still surprised he's running a risk with Jane around."

"I don't suppose he's told Jane anything about that has he?" Erin enquired in hope rather than expectation.

"I asked but no. Anyway Erin can I come round tonight? Assuming that we don't have to sort out the Pearce family – give me terrorists any day."

Erin smiled. "Only if you wear your uniform, I never could resist a man in one."

"How do you feel about handcuffs? I think this outfit has a pair." Dimitri began to check his pockets but was halted by Erin's reply. "Thanks but no. We get enough bondage in this job."

"Spoilsport. I could bring a whip to match your high heels?"

"Do you want to answer Rosie's questions? Anyway I have to go. Hmm I can't kiss you in that uniform at the moment – perhaps later when I don't have to concentrate on work. If I don't go and we miss Garside moving or being moved Harry will combust.

With that she vanished leaving Dimitri wondering what excuse he could invent for retaining the uniform and hoping that this wouldn't be a late night, well not on the Grid anyway.

Having travelled to the point she should have been at five minutes previously Erin noticed with relief that their wanted asset was still sitting in the shelter seemingly melded to his Kindle. She also recognised the two chosen operatives approaching. To confirm that she was on task she sent Harry a quick text. "Action imminent."

One of the spies, dressed in a plain grey hoodie teamed with scruffy jeans, had adopted a slouching gait that belied the information in his file fingering him as a previous under twenty one British athletics champion. The other was a thickset man, clad just in a tee shirt, and sporting an interesting assortment of macho tattoos. Predominant along his arm was one piece of artwork depicting a large bat that rippled with movement at every flexing of the biceps, indicating the provenance of his nickname. Combined with the two nose studs and a shaven head he looked like a human Rottweiler, a refugee from the sort of underclass infested ghettos that the law abiding had nightmares about. It was an effective disguise that had made him one of the team's most cherished and successful undercover officers. In his hand he carried what looked like a can of spray paint but actually contained a useful emergency weapon in the form of a quick acting knock out gas.

Neither man gave Erin any acknowledgement as they wandered around the corner with no apparent aim in life beyond that of rivalling Banksy in the graffiti stakes. Batman strolled into the shelter, announced his arrival by belching loudly and sat beside Kindle man. Kicking a tin can casually out of the way he turned to the occupant and remarked in a low growl. "Hi know when the bus is due mate."

"No idea."

Leaning over the Kindle Batman inquired, "Hey what you reading - porn? Good for that I've heard."

"Piss off," came the testy reply.

Robin approached from behind muttering, "Now that isn't what I call friendly is it?"

"No but then we're about to get very friendly aren't we?" As the pair moved to close in, their victim, while looking alarmed, stuck to his cover.

"Piss off." Batman looked bored at this repetitious speech, "You need to learn some manners chum."

The Kindle dropped to the ground as a knife was pulled but Robin was too quick and disarmed him with a quick karate chop.

"Really not very nice so you either come with us or we'll report you and the knife to those policemen down the road."

Further protests were diffused via a quick spurt from the spray can. Hauling the asset along in an armlock that looked casual the trio made their way around the corner to the van that had drawn up in their absence.

As Batman opened the back of the hospitality ready vehicle their reluctant guest recovered himself sufficiently to demand of Robin, "Where are we going?"

"Oops I forgot to say. Thames House. I believe you've heard of it."

Robin's reply was accompanied by Batman squeezing their quarry a little harder as he proclaimed, "You're nicked."

"Sorry he can't help this. He wanted to be a policeman but Harry Pearce made him a better offer."

Harry's confidence in the effect his name would have proved to be fully justified. Kindle man went a little pale at this piece of news as Batman proceeded to lift him off the ground and unceremoniously stuff him into the van. Once they were well away Erin checked the road again and then picked up her phone.

"Okay Harry. Asset taken. You can now proceed to the flat."

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**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for the encouraging reviews. My original intention was to move straight into the action at Catherine's flat but then I thought we might all wonder what Harry and Jane had to say to one another.**

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_A Conversation_

After Erin's departure Harry and Jane sat in a slightly embarrassed silence, separated physically by a litter strewn table and mentally by the weight of personal history. How exactly did you communicate with someone you'd loved, married, divorced and had a total non relationship with for quarter of century? What did you converse about, the weather, the television, the latest celebrity scandal? Those banal topics were suitable for a casual social occasion or a surprise encounter at a party but in their situation!

"Harry."

He looked at Jane as she cautiously enquired, "Are we here as ourselves or do we have a background story?"

Harry appreciating her acumen replied, "If anyone is shadowing us they'll know who we are. For the benefit of the casual observers we're either a married couple having a quiet coffee or a couple having an illicit affair. You're the one wearing the wedding ring so you can choose."

Jane glanced disdainfully at the gold band circling her ring finger. From her expression anyone observing would have assumed that it was shackle that had unexpectedly materialised on her digit. She considered for a moment before saying, "I'm less experienced than you at having affairs so we'll have to pretend we're married. Besides at our age trying to out do Romeo and Juliet looks vaguely obscene."

Harry groaned wearily, "Agreed" before adding, "and personally I'm a feeling a little too tired to pretend we're Lady Chatterley and Mellors." That one earned him the death glare. His consoling thought was that they at least looked like a long married couple, one whose relationship, judging by the silences that kept intruding, was headed for the rocks**. **The irony of reviving their disastrous past for an operation when it was his profession that had destroyed their marriage wasn't lost on Harry. Had the same thought occurred to Jane? The chief difference between the present and twenty five years ago was that their genuine breakup had been preceded by ear splitting episodes of screaming and shouting interspersed by the slamming of doors, not heralded via a miserable conversation held in an equally miserable cafe.

The fragrant smell from the toilets chimed in with their depressed mood, not improved by the approach of the mother and young daughter, the latter whinging that she wanted Coke as the door swung shut behind them. The child's pink T shirt was plastered with the words '_So many boys so little time_', a slogan so manifestly unsuitable for her age that Harry glanced at Jane and held his breath as he willed her not to comment. Despite the flash of disapproval in Jane's eyes she held her tongue. Mindful of their agreed legend Harry looked at her with what he hoped passed muster as a bored gaze. Given the opportunity to scrutinise her closely he noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tense body. Her exhausted appearance worried him, she couldn't have had much sleep the previous evening, she was obviously worn out, worried and possibly in pain. He wondered just how much physical discomfort she was actually suffering. He could ask but he knew his Jane, she'd dismiss the question as foolish before adding a caustic remark to the effect that his concern was about two decades too late. In a stab at sociability he ventured a suggestion.

"Jane another coffee?"

"Harry I know you'd like to be rid of me but poisoning is a little slow – try shooting me instead. "

Harry, unaware that Jane had interpreted his earlier reference to equipment correctly gave her a surprised look. Jane was becoming a little fed-up with being constantly under estimated. "Well I assume it's a gun in your pocket since deep down I know you're not pleased to see me."

"After last night's blast I'm very pleased you're still alive. I'm not sure I'd want my worst enemy scraped off the road and you've not hit that category, yet." '_Even_ _Elena was left in one piece, just.' _

"I'll keep working on it."

After that conversation stopper silence fell once more. Seemingly their legend was not going to be one of a garrulous pairing. Once more it was Harry who sought to kick-start a discussion, avoiding all reference to the current circumstances, whilst trying to hold a facial expression consistent with their pretended status.

"Jane, you can say no but Dimitri would very much like your help. He's having problems with deciphering the dramatic requirements of the Olympiad Shakespeare fest. Particularly as they relate to the security around the Reception later this week. I know you said you weren't going to attend but if you could help him I'd be greatly in your debt."

"No need to lay on with a trowel Harry. If I can I will, after all your team are being very helpful and supportive considering that they don't really know me."

"I think they've rather taken to you. Normally they treat anyone outside the senior team with caution."

Jane knew what was worrying him and thought he had good reason to feel apprehensive. She'd been privy to several conversations the mainstay of which had been friends dissecting the shortcomings of their ex-partners in intimate and forensic detail. Despite their many differences her pride meant that she certainly didn't want Harry bracketing her with women who broadcast their marital misfortunes on a global scale. "Well they clearly respect you and are concerned that I've misjudged you. Erin spent much of the journey here trying to convince me that you're really a cuddly bunny at heart."

Harry's expression was choice. His face displayed total revulsion as he considered the implication. Cuddly! Sir Harry Pearce, supposedly the hard man of Section D, reincarnated by his staff as a Disney character. The humiliation; which one did they favour? The plump bad tempered Donald Duck, he could unfortunately comprehend the resemblance; Mickey Mouse, now the name behind a thousand useless pen pushing schemes, not exactly job affirming was it; or not, please God not, Goofy.

Jane took pity on him as she tried to explain Erin's motive. "I think she was trying to tell me that you're not heartless."

"I doubt you agreed."

"Don't worry I didn't say anything to her I haven't said to you."

Harry closed his eyes briefly as he recalled some of Jane's more vituperative comments. Although richly deserved he'd prefer not to have them revealed to the world at large. That he'd been a dreadful husband and failed father were details enough. When he opened his eyes he was greeted by her very direct stare. Was this ominous?

"Forgive me Jane if I don't find that statement particularly reassuring."

Jane's tone displayed annoyance at his obvious distrust as she insisted, "Really, don't worry. All I said was that you were often away and that we needed you. Unlike you I keep my promises, so keep yours and tell me what you really know about this allegiance altering asset."

Harry's entire body flooded with relief that her words to Erin had been so mild before he responded. "I know with our history you have every reason to disbelieve me but I'm trying to learn from my past mistakes. I promised not to lie but equally I can't tell you what I don't know myself. Garside is, as you rightly said, for sale to anyone in theory. In practice he's probably being employed by either Six or the CIA. The why may depend on whatever or whosoever Catherine's involved with."

"And Erin's suggestion – the CIA must have been pretty peeved. Is it possible that Catherine's being used to get at you?"

He'd rather hoped that suggestion had slipped her memory, he should have known better. Like the French Bourbons Jane forgot nothing: unlike them she learnt quickly and therefore would insist on an acceptable answer. "In this job anything is possible Jane, but the laptop theft does suggest that it is Catherine who's wanted not me. Besides which setting up such an elaborate hoax and grabbing our daughter to wrong foot me would be stupid for several reasons."

"That maybe so, but I also remember you once saying that American Intelligence was your ultimate oxymoron." Harry pondered that statement, he must have made it years ago. He supposed it was vaguely comforting that in a changing world somethings remained constant. He was so absorbed in memory that he nearly missed Jane's next acid laden words. "Mine would be an amicable divorce."

Harry wasn't rising to that particular bait so he just shrugged his reply, "Then we can both rest our cases."

Jane, having made her verbal swipe returned to her more pressing question, "What happens if Garside won't tell you anything?"

"I'm not trying to choke you off but discussing this here really isn't wise." Having glanced swiftly around Harry added, "But trust me for once Jane, Garside will talk – eventually."

The fierce cast on Harry's face as he uttered these words made Jane nervous. Normally she'd fear for Garside. She didn't know exactly what Harry was capable of but she assumed that it wouldn't make the cut for '_Watch with Mother'_. She was rapidly beginning to appreciate the ambivalent morality of his world. If the only option to secure their daughter's safety involved questionable actions would she take a principled stand or would she look away while Harry did whatever he deemed necessary to rescue Catherine? Would she even feel guilty if the interrogation turned into torture and Garside was damaged if it saved her, no... their child? Hard on that thought followed another- Harry must have faced these decisions every working day for over thirty years. What precisely had these dilemmas done to him?

She was distracted from these ethical questions by the mother and child escaping from the toilets. Jane coughed as the sudden whiff of released ammonia invaded her nostrils. The school age truant was now broadcasting her demand for sweets to the entire cafe as they wove their way back to their seats.

Casting an unamiable glare at the pair Jane hissed in a low voice that only Harry could hear, "I'd suggest sticky toffee marinated in super glue." Irritation vented she returned to the subject in hand. "Okay Harry I'll follow your lead and keep quiet. And just for the record and to stop you stressing, I rarely discuss our marriage with others, it was bad enough living it without repeating it post divorce for the delectation of emotional voyeurs who'd then make expressions of false sympathy**.** And I certainly wouldn't confide in Erin, or any other member of your staff."

He had wondered how she and Erin had got along. Erin was definitely not a woman's woman. Harry had noticed that she was inclined to be slightly distant with her own sex, preferring to hang out with Dimitri and Calum. She and Ruth had managed to work together quite well but then who would dislike Ruth? The only spook who'd ever had a spiky relationship with Ruth was Ros but even they had managed to co-operate after Ruth's return from Cyprus. God, how he missed them both; Ruth who still lived with him in every heartbeat, and Ros whose astringent quality, hiding her vulnerability, so closely echoed his own. After her total rejection by Jocelyn Myers, he'd almost become a substitute father to her, she'd needed someone to watch over her, even as she denied it, and given his non-existent contact with Graham and fragile relationship with Catherine he'd needed an outlet to assuage his paternal instincts. His questioning look was intercepted and accurately interpreted by Jane.

"No she's not been unpleasant or patronising. She's taking trouble with me. Obviously doesn't see me as a rival, unlike what did you say she was called ...?"

"Beth." Feeling obliged to defend his Section Chief despite his own views on Erin's action in dismissing Beth from the Grid he added in exculpation, "and I wouldn't say that they were rivals exactly."

"If I understood your expression correctly Erin made the decision without consulting you exactly, so let me guess. Beth was younger or the same age as Erin, very attractive and confident. Plus Dimitri liked her."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I've met the type before – men never notice it - Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying that it's deliberate with Erin, she may be subconsciously seeing off anyone she reckons is a rival. Then again she's obviously not in her current position by virtue being a shrinking violet. I also noticed that she's the only female member of your senior team."

"Actually we did have another and she wasn't seen off by Erin she was head hunted by the Home Secretary." –'_I saw her off myself with my face saving report and attempts to keep her safe'_

He waited confidently for a reply, Jane, as he knew could argue for England, besides which he was genuinely interested in her opinion. Despite their rowdy disagreements he respected her judgement, except, of course, as regarded himself where she could be positively unreasonable. In the context of their present discussion she was that rarity, an observant outsider with no prior knowledge of personalities and no particular axe to grind. He wasn't disappointed. Jane considered his viewpoint briefly before stating,

"Then I'm betting that she was older than Erin –not obviously glamorous and slightly self effacing. Tell me as Section Chief who does Erin bring to your notice – male, preferably handsome, female preferably plain? Don't answer me, just think about it."

A medieval Harry would have consigned Jane to the village ducking stool. If her tongue hadn't guaranteed her a drenching her intuitive abilities would have had her branded as a witch. Twenty first century Harry neither had nor required that option as he considered her theory before saying, "With recent events I've not really had a chance to notice but Erin isn't a bitch Jane."

"I didn't say she was. I just think that because she's so attractive she automatically expects admiration from the trouser wearing half of the population. If she has women friends they'll be functioning as either acolytes or background wallpaper. But enlighten me, are Dimitri and Erin an item? I rather got the impression that she's quite keen."

"I really don't know, but they are close. Believe it or not I don't interfere with the private lives of my staff unless I think security is threatened."

"I believe you, after all your own when you were on their level didn't bear much examination. I was surprised though to find out that she has a daughter."

Harry sighed, his affairs and disconnection from his family, the permanent never ending conversational loop. "You of all people should know that it is possible for spies to have children Jane."

"Yes but given how much trouble you went too keep us safe I'm just a little surprised at you employing a single parent, as un PC as that may sound."

Harry was astounded by her belated acknowledgment of his efforts to shield his family from harm. Jane had never admitted to this in any of their frequent shouting matches. He'd always assumed that she'd misjudged his motives in that respect. However he had no time to consider the implications of her confession, he had to answer the latter part of her statement, which meant treading perilously near to territory he didn't want to explain.

"Erin was appointed when I had a period off the Grid and she is excellent at her job. I will admit though that it worries me at times. I had a couple who worked for me a few years ago. They were both killed leaving a young son. Telling a nine year old his father was dead was one of the worst things I've ever had to do." '_having to leave Ruth' s body lying on the ground while I ... no I daren't even think about that...except I do - every day.'_

The pain on Harry's face as he uttered these words was naked. Jane remained silent as she recalled Catherine's halting descriptions of Harry's agony when he'd fought to get her the life saving treatment she needed, of the trouble he'd taken behind their son's back to get him into Rehab. Whatever his job had done to Harry somewhere, buried beneath the uncompromising persona he displayed to the world, the remnants of the man she thought she'd married lingered, concealed but still, thanks heavens in existence. She decided to move on saying softly,

"Harry, I didn't need Erin to tell me that you're not made of granite. I remember your face when you held Catherine and then Graham for the first time. That was one of the things I could never understand..."

Enough was enough, Harry interrupted with an indignant, "What! That I wanted our children and loved them both from first sight? I know I was and am a lousy father but..."

This time it was Jane's turn to break angrily across a speech, "No. I think I always understood that, whatever I may have yelled at you. But work forced you to break so many promises to them both, plus you were so keen for them to do well you came over as a remote, demanding, authoritative, bully. Those may be essential qualities for the Head of Section D but they don't play well with parenthood."

Chastened but recognising the truth he slowly replied, "I know – Jane - if I could revisit the past and do some things differently I would, willingly."

"As I did tell Erin, your regrets should be issued to the children. I don't need to be convinced. I know Catherine would have been dead if you hadn't rescued her in the Lebanon and I can only guess how much that solicitor cost when Graham was charged with possession. What I couldn't get my head around, what I really couldn't understand was how a man who was so sensitive in many ways could do such a brutal job and keep on doing it despite what it did to him. To be honest I still don't."

Harry stared at that one, "But I never really..."

"Told me. True, but the Official Secrets Act couldn't disguise your physical scars when you came limping home and I didn't suppose that Northern Ireland and Berlin were your holiday destinations of choice. I know that Bill's death haunted you. I don't know what happened in Berlin but I do know that you were never the same when you returned." Looking at Harry she added, "Seriously for once I'm not criticising. I'm trying to tell you that I'm beginning to realise why you became so remote. Some horrors you can't share. Some decisions you can't talk about."

Grateful as he was for some late flowering recognition of the problems he'd faced Harry still felt obliged to confess. "Even so my inability to share still destroyed our marriage."

"Was that entirely due to your job? I've wondered about that increasingly over the past few years. We were very young when we married, younger than our children are now. Look at our contemporaries, only Richard and Sophie are still married, everyone else has split up."

Once again she'd surprised him. He hadn't really kept up with the old crowd beyond the yearly ritual of the Christmas card. His job tended to separate him from regular contacts and he'd assumed that the majority of their mutual acquaintances would take Jane's side of the argument. Most of the women would probably concur that he was a philandering bastard while Harry guessed that several of their husbands would want to offer comforts of a more private nature to the newly divorced Jane. It wasn't a scenario he'd wanted to stick around to suffer. Even so the almost total failure of everyone to remain with their original choice of partner was news to him. He was nearly as dumbfounded by this nugget of information as he was by Jane's attribution of their divorce to anno domini rather than Her Majesty's Service.

Harry blurted out his astonishment, "You don't have to say that."

Jane sighed, "When have I ever said anything because I had to? The job didn't help but I might just have coped if it had been that alone, maybe... I don't know. **–**What I do know is that it was the job combined with the constant procession of other women that really did for us. I know what you kept saying -– it was just meaningless sex - maybe it was for you **- **but have you any idea of how it feels to know that when your husband is making love to you he's been kissing and stroking another woman in the same way, crying out her name, to wonder if he's come straight from making love to her to going through the same motions with you? To suspect that when he arrives home late he wasn't really at work? I'm not religious Harry but I understand why that commandment was set, infidelity corrodes trust and if you can't trust your partner what are you left with? You weren't the Spy who came in from the Cold, more like the Spy who got out of Bed, very occasionally. But that might have happened even if you'd been in a more conventional profession. What amazes me, considering your priapic activities, is that our children don't have a succession of half siblings.

Fortunately for Harry the screaming child, now demanding a burger, distracted Jane who turned her head tutting in disgust at the mother's failure to discipline her offspring. Otherwise she would have seen in an instant the agony of these old disastrous deceptions dragged into the light of day as they surfaced onto his face**. **Thoughts of Sasha, Elena, his jealously of Ilya,_ 'you're a much better lover Harry - another lie?' _By the time Jane's attention had veered back onto him he'd managed to school his features, if not into impassivity at least into a semblance of normality as he ruminated, "Luke and Karen were still together so that makes two couples who survived."

"Ah I'd forgotten you left the funeral before Karen became drunk and loquacious – together was a vague term - as in not yet divorced."

"In view of my track record dare I ask what went wrong?"

"The usual story. Luke was involved with one of his students, very pretty, very sexy, very eighteen and very, in my view, inappropriate for a lecturer, even if she was of age. I suppose it flattered his ego to be mistaken for a stud at fifty plus, although if Karen's maudlin reminiscences were to be believed he probably expired from Viagra overdose just to get it up." Harry, caught in the act of pretending to sip his coffee inadvertently took a full mouthful. As he tried to avoid choking on the foul liquid while simultaneously attempting to rid his mind of unbidden images Jane continued, apparently oblivious to his spluttering, "It put your extra marital activities into perspective. You were gentleman enough to try to hide your womanising and you did come home to me. It does nothing for any woman to feel she's been dumped for a girl just over sixteen. And at least you've avoided shacking up with a teenager trying to kid you this is true love while taking you for as much as she can."

Harry hoped Jane hadn't seen him wince. Yet again he was reminding himself that Jane knew nothing about his recent past. He also had to admit that looking at other people's relationships she had a point. Did he come into the category Jane had just disparaged, men in late middle age entranced by women they could have fathered? Ruth had been years younger than him, but she'd been Ruth, an intelligent woman of forty not a teenage nymphet. Anyway while she had been technically young enough to be his daughter he hadn't actually begun his sexual adventuring until he hit university, an all male school and parental control had seen to that – even if he'd then hastily dedicated himself to making up for lost time.

Looking at Jane's despondent expression, he knew how much it must have cost her to be so frank, he'd always assumed that it was the job and that she had never appreciated his efforts to protect them; now he'd discovered the real bone of contention. If he'd known but - no she'd given him ample warning before calling time on their marriage, he needed to accept that he'd been a complacent idiot. In the words of the old cliché he'd wanted to have his cake and eat it, the excitement that came with the secrecy of an affair to escape into and a normal, slightly humdrum domestic life to return to. Even with that thought as a given he did speculate as to whether all her statements were directly related to their marriage, very young immature girls had never been his particular weakness and Jane knew that. Was she speaking theoretically? You never could be sure; in any conversation with her some viewpoints were informed from literature, some from life. In the early days of their relationship he'd endured more than one philosophical discourse on the theory of life v literature, '_it must have been love' _although his main thoughts at the time had been occupied by the much more earthy issue of persuading her to sleep with him. Was his current existence the only one blurred by hurt and secrets? She'd only revealed her career twist when absolutely necessary and he wasn't so lost in his own misery that he hadn't noticed a great reluctance on her part to mention either Graham or her husband. Was this solely an attempt at self defence activated by a need to preserve crumbs of her privacy from a man who'd injured her deeply, or was she like him skirting around painful issues? He was frankly curious but he didn't want to probe, not when for the first time in years he'd received a very mild absolution from her for latter day wrongs. Verbal jousting with Jane was challenging, even in a bizarre way enjoyable, and he didn't want to risk this shading back into their previous snarling hostility**. **It was as if he was skidding dispairingly across cracked ice juggling with the weight of his guilt as he attempted to find a precarious balance.

Sitting opposite him Jane had sunk into her own thoughts, Harry looked his usual unmoveable self but she knew that his brain would be whirring. Had she given too much away even in her oblique guarded comments? Harry back in her life would represent a horrible complication that she didn't want. Instinct based on the last few hours told her to trust him but experience baulked at the prospect of leaving herself wide open to more hurt. It was only through recent trials that she had begun to understand how the ripples of their split had affected her. What about him? It was clear to her that Harry was profoundly troubled almost to the point of depression by something other than their shared past. She'd been tempted to confide in him after his sympathy over her job loss and his genuine horror at the tale she'd related. Could he help her now? No she decided, they both had their secrets and that was the way it would remain, unless of course Harry chose to become forthcoming about whatever was knawing away at his peace of mind, an event likely to be preceded by Hell freezing over.

Harry finally decided to test the water and risk an enquiry in one potentially delicate area. He was Graham's father; he had a legitimate right to express an interest in his son's welfare.

"Jane, I don't like pressurising Catherine so tell me how is Graham these days?"

Jane had anticipated this question and had an answer pat. "He wouldn't want you to know Harry."

"I don't want chapter and verse Jane but I am his father, I'll settle for a loose outline – I've never really walked away, whatever Graham might think."

_Oh God_ – she was going to have to respond. Mentally she was squirming, trying to avoid the need to reply while disguising the truth when Harry's mobile buzzed into life. Harry answered it and then rang off.

"Later Jane, for now Catherine needs to be our priority."

Jane heaved an internal sigh of thanks – saved by the ringtone.

As they left and walked past the woman with the child their ears were assaulted by yet another demand.

"Mummy I want new Nintendo, my old model is rubbish - everyone else has one."

Leaning over the woman Jane distilled the accumulated wisdom of a professional forced to teach brats possessed of a misplaced sense of entitlement.

"Could I advise you to say No? A pair of earplugs would be so much cheaper."

Before the astounded woman could articulate a reply an alarmed Harry grabbed Jane's arm and dragged her out of the cafe with scant respect for either her damaged shoulder or weak ankle. Once outside he berated her as she began to rub soothing fingers over her aching collar bone.

"And I thought I lived dangerously. Around here Jane they don't debate politely, they present you with a bunch of fives."

Jane just smiled at his rebuke, for the first time since they'd been thrown together again he saw her dark gray eyes glint with mischief and certainty, "Yes but then I'm accompanied by my knight in tarnished armour, the one who swept me off my feet all those years ago and I'm sure he'd still rescue a damsel in distress."

Her unexpected mercurial change of mood left Harry torn between anger and amusement. He was rendered speechless with shock by the sight of the old Jane sparkle, untouched by acrimony. It was as if a shaft of sunlight had suddenly broken across the bleak landscape of his life. When had anyone last looked at him that way? He really couldn't remember. Even Ruth's last smile had been tainted by uncertainty as she waited for him to articulate a reply to what had proved to be her final request. Momentarily stunned he eventually managed a sardonic answer**.**

"Judging by our earlier conversation an unneutered tomcat with a roving eye might have been a more appropriate simile. In which case I think I may have used up my nine lives."

With that he opened the car door for her and presented her with a mock bow, "My lady your chariot awaits."

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**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment. Holidays beckon so the next chapter, which is already planned, might be delayed. **


	11. Chapter 11

_**Many thanks for the kind reviews. Also a big thank you to the reviewer who helped me out with details from Harry's diary. To those of you who are following this story apologies for the delay. **_

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_Catherine's Flat_

As Harry drove towards their daughter's flat Jane's initial euphoria at finally leaving the cafe was short lived. In her anxiety to discover what had become of Catherine she'd temporarily forgotten that they were returning to the scene of last night's shattering experience. As recollection seeped back she began to shudder uncontrollably. Harry, his hands occupied with the steering wheel and his eyes focussed on the road felt rather that saw her reaction. It didn't surprise him although he'd rather hoped for Jane's sake that she could have avoided this symptom of shock. He recalled all too clearly the first time he'd been affected in this way, even as a trained officer presented with no choice other than to kill or being killed he had celebrated his survival not with whoops of wild joy or a pleasurable gloat over his success but by crawling away and throwing up soon as he'd reached a decent privacy. Gradually over the years he'd become hardened and learnt to accept the sleep disturbing nightmares as the inevitable concomitant of a profession in which not becoming completely callous counted as a personal triumph. He'd sometimes even been grateful for his haunted dreams, regarding them as a sign that he had managed to retain some small shreds of conscience, but he hoped to God that Jane would never again be placed in direct contact with this aspect of his job**.** Many of Ruth's statements during the last year of her life had wounded him, but none so deeply as hearing the woman who'd joined Section D with such keen naive enthusiasm describe herself as '_dead inside'_ .The only two women he'd ever wanted to marry and he'd damaged them both, destroying their lives in different ways. He should come stamped with a Government health warning. Hell, he was the Government health warning. The motto '_Messing around with Harry Pearce can seriously damage your Life' _should be tattooed in inch high capitals across his forehead.

Pulling up at the kerbside he unclipped his seat belt, produced his mobile and proceeded to make a call. "Dimitri. Has anyone arrived who might have replaced Garside? No don't do anything until I arrive. I'm going to leave the car here and use the back entrance. Just keep watching."

With that he rang off and turned to look at Jane. Still shivering, she also appeared perplexed at the realisation that they had not drawn up outside Catherine's flat as she'd expected. Before she could remonstrate he stated, "I'll explain on the way," as he opened his door and climbed out of the car**. **Jane, left with no option other than to join him inched her way painfully to his side. Harry, having made the swift mandatory appraisal of his surroundings that she was now beginning to associate with spooks in action, began to stride briskly down a small alleyway. Jane's attempt to match his pace was foiled by her treacherous ankle, when protesting at such cavalier treatment, it suddenly gave way and for the second time in twenty four hours she found herself kissing concrete. Harry hearing her agonized yelp looked around, cursing himself for his thoughtlessness he dashed back to where she was lying, her head perilously near a pile of dog shit.

Grasping her hand as she prised herself into an upright position, carefully avoiding contact with Fido's leavings, he began to stammer, "I'm sorry Jane. I forgot about your ankle. It's just.."

Jane halted his apology: "Don't worry, I'm getting used to this. Harry, I know you're anxious to get to Catherine's but will taking a few more minutes really matter?"

"In this job a couple of seconds can make a difference, often between life and death. But I take your point. More importantly are you alright?"

Rubbing her hands over various parts of her anatomy Jane reassured him, "No damage, except to your clothes."

Watching her rotate her hips in movements which the younger Harry would have interpreted as an invitation to seduce he queried, "Then why are you wriggling?"

"Underwear displacement. Catherine lied, thongs aren't comfortable to wear, at least this one isn't, it feels like having a cheese wire rammed between my buttocks." Seeing his disconcerted face she fought down a temptation to laugh. "Sorry I didn't want to embarrass you."

"That's not the problem, but giving me images like that, could, at my age lead to a cardiac arrest. Not to mention my having to face Erin across the Briefing Room. Would it help it I turned around while you rearrange yourself?"

Jane nodded her thanks. With his back towards her Harry embarked on his promised explanation. "It's unlikely that Garside alone was tasked with watching the flat. Until we know what he was actually told I want to avoid anyone identifying you," adding after a moment's pause "or myself."

A tap on his shoulder indicated that Jane's underpinnings were satisfactorily realigned. Swinging around to his original position Harry cautiously proffered his arm "Here grab hold of me, we don't want any more accidents." She gripped his elbow grateful for the support. Together he walked and Jane hobbled up the alley, turned a corner and entered a shared access area at the rear of what she recognised as Catherine's block of flats. Jane, having considered the implications of Harry's words had a question.

"But Harry after last night..." her words petered out as she tried to subdue the shuddering that threatened to overtake her once again.

When had she collected herself Harry expanded his previous statement. "Press black out as to the actual cause. Any enquires attributed the problem to a gas explosion with no casualties."

"Yes but – I'm sorry Harry I don't understand, didn't you and Dimitri mention leaks? Surely someone knows what happened, the police, the hospital, the other flat owners..." Her words petered out as she considered who else to add to the list.

Despite his predilection for intelligent women there were occasions when Harry wished he'd married on unquestioning doormat as, once again, he embarked on a master class regarding the intricacies of his secretive world. **"**In cases like this we have a standard protocol. Remember last night that the first thing you told me was that you'd been injured by a gas explosion?" Jane instantly thought back to the yesterday that seemed eons ago. Seeing that he had her attention Harry continued, "everyone who knows the truth has been muzzled so when we get chatter about the bomb that should help us trace the perpetrators."

As they turned towards the flats' back entrance they were met by Erin breathless with news, "Harry it's just as well you took this route, Garside was replaced about two minutes ago. Presumably they don't know we've got him – do you want his replacement lifted as well?"

Harry considered for a moment before stating decisively, "No if Garside won't talk or doesn't know anything we need a second lead – have him followed. – Robin I think, he's a little less obvious than Batman, as long as he's still in grey, not his original colour."

Batman! Robin! Fighting down the unpleasant frisson that the latter name produced when mentioned unexpectedly Jane wondered if she'd accidentally strayed into a playground where nicknames reigned supreme**. **Schoolboy jokes in the midst of the grim reality that a man had died in her daughter's flat and that her daughter was missing presumed who knew what**...!** She was about to voice her protest at this ill timed frivolity when she recalled an occasion years ago when she had remonstrated with a hungover Harry, his affliction the result of a prolonged session with the whisky bottle, '_Jane, black humour and alcohol are the ways we retain our sanity'_**. **After the experiences of the last twenty four hours it ill behoved her to criticise his survival mechanisms and at least at the moment he was sober. More worrying was that Harry plainly thought that some danger must still exist or he wouldn't be taking such stringent precautions to preserve their safety. As if he'd read her mind he patted the pocket in which she assumed he'd secreted his gun, presumably to reassure himself that it was still within easy grabbing range before he continued to speak.

"Contact Calum – tell him to get Robin out here. Laura can bring him. She needs to park in the next street –and make sure she brings a lockpick with her and a mobile for Jane programmed with the Grid emergency number plus my own. Once we've finished here she's driving Jane to her home to collect some clothes."

Listening to Harry barking out his orders Jane was beginning to feel like A N Other. When he'd finished his final command she felt compelled to ask**, "**Er do I get a say in this?"

Recalled to her presence Harry replied in turn, "Well do you want to continue looking like a mannequin from a downmarket charity shop?"

"If you'd ever darkened the doorstep of Oxfam et al you'd know that bespoke shirts and expensive waxed jackets tend not to feature on their rails."

Irritated by what he saw as an unnecessary petulance on her part Harry snapped, "Just answer the question. Do you or do you not want to be reunited with a wardrobe that fits?"

"Yes of course – but I thought you needed me here?"

"I do, but you said it yourself, I'm running out of shirts and you don't fancy borrowing my underwear. Frankly if you're staying with me I'd like to see you looking more like... "

"The Jane you know and loath. Thanks."

"Don't put words into my mouth. What I was going to say was that as I've got to see Towers, Dimitri has to talk to Garside and Calum still has several boring hours of CCTV to process we can spare you for a while. Besides which my ears need a rest."

"And what happened to my handbag? I did ask you to check."

Forced to listen on the sidelines Erin wondered yet again about the comedy of manners she saw being played out. Was she looking at an originally well matched couple estranged by circumstances now battling their way towards some level of mutual understanding or, alternatively, were their less acerbic exchanges the thin veneer of an attempted civility between two people who truly detested one another. She honestly didn't know. What she did know was that while they slogged their way towards something that equated to a working partnership valuable time was being lost. If, heaven forbid, she'd been the manager of a kindergarten she'd have had no hesitation in plonking the pair of them on naughty chairs at opposite ends of the room**. **Having endured quite enough of their continual bickering she opted for the next best action and broke across their words.

"I can answer your question Jane. It was totally destroyed along with your suitcase so Laura will need that lockpick." Having disposed of what her tone made plain she considered a triviality she proceeded to ignore Jane, turning to ask Harry, "What do you want to do about Garside?"

Harry, relieved by her interruption, had no doubts: "We'll leave him to stew for a while. The more nervous he is the quicker he'll sing. Dimitri can question him when we finish here, preferably to the accompaniment of Batman cracking his knuckles."

While Erin phoned in his instructions Harry and Jane entered the flat through the kitchen door and walked through into the main sitting room. The air carried with it a distinct smell of cordite but beyond that and the evidence left behind by a hasty dusting for fingerprints the room didn't look too damaged. The arrangement of the flat was simple. A small entrance hall cum passageway lay behind the front door that led from the communal access door, now blown out of existence. The first door off the passageway branched off into the spacious sitting room they now stood in, with a doorway to the kitchen. Further doors further down the corridor gave access to the main bedroom, a small second bedroom and the bathroom. Although Harry had checked the layout thoroughly before Catherine moved in he'd only set foot over the threshold once,when he'd arrived unexpectedly, bearing a small house warming gift. Although she'd been pleased to see him his stay had been truncated by Catherine's warning that Jane and her sister were due very shortly, a hint, he'd assumed that he might wish to vanish before her evening was marred by their ongoing hostilities. This had been shortly before the Albany debacle since when he'd been disinclined to visit Catherine the Inquisitor.

Hearing them arrive Dimitri popped in from the entrance hall. His disguise so effective that Jane jumped in shock, before recognition kicked in. "Sorry Dimitri – it's the helmet. You look different in that uniform."

It took her a couple of seconds to work out the reason for his quick smirk, then she realised he was looking in Erin's direction. Ah, the tempting allure of the uniform, but she couldn't really throw stones at the pair of them. Harry had looked positively tasty in his military garb; this however was not the moment to let her thoughts stray down a lane cobbled with pornographic memories. Needing to subdue her treacherous recollections she quizzed Dimitri.

"Harry mentioned that you'd like my advice. When's the next meeting?

"Tomorrow – I realise it may depend upon developments here, but really Jane I'm totally out of my depth with this one."

Harry catching the end of this exchange interjected, "And considering he was with the SBS that's saying something, but could we save the arty agenda for later and remember what we're here for. "

Surveying his surroundings Harry asked, "Do you notice anything different?"

"Not really, but it's about two months since I last visited Catherine."

"We'll need to check everything. Jane, can you and Erin look through the bedrooms and bathroom? As you reminded me earlier no woman wants a man ransacking her underwear drawer. See if she's taken any clothes with her." As Jane stared at him he added, "Jane we still don't know if she was taken or went out of her own accord, in which case she may have expected to be away for the weekend."

"Do you really think that?"

"No, but we must discount that possibility. I'll take this room."

Jane and Erin disappeared in the bedroom while Harry sat down to scrutinize the contents of desk and book case. It felt uncomfortable rifling through his daughter's life and possessions as if she were a terrorist suspect. He'd remembered how violated he'd felt when his house had been searched during the Sugar Horse incident. Unfortunately this was no time to develop scruples about invading Catherine's privacy, surely somewhere she'd left some clue as to what had happened. Buoyed up with what he fervently trusted was not a false hope he set to work.

The clear space in the centre of the desk indicated the resting place of the stolen laptop. Various papers lay scattered around, odd notes and scraps with scribbled words, none of which appeared to bear any direct connection with the events of the last few hours, but what had he expected? A file saying "_This is why I'll be kidnapped._" That didn't happen even in the most farfetched of thrillers. His foraging in the desk for a memory stick was equally fruitless, yielding little of interest beyond an old photograph album that he put aside, and from the drawer at the bottom, a large number of DVD's neatly labelled with titles and dates, probably copies of Catherine's previous films although they would have to be played through on the off chance that they held some discernible clues. The contents of the nearby book case were slightly more interesting, containing various books and articles on the enthralling subjects of torture, imprisonment and crime. Gruesome themes of which he could make little, beyond a hope that they related solely to his daughter's working life. Having stacked up everything that seemed worthy of further investigation he prowled around the room checking out cushions, sides of chairs, anywhere that might be used as a place of concealment. Having failed to discover anything to enlighten him Harry focussed his attention on the photographs scattered over various surfaces. The largest was a framed print of Catherine receiving an award for some noteworthy and earnest production; its title temporarily escaped his memory. Obviously Danny's prophecy that she was '_a bit of a rising star in the world of documentary'_ was well on its way to fulfilment. While Harry felt huge pride in her achievements Catherine's risky choice of topics combined with her higher profile meant that he not infrequently shuddered for her safety**.** He'd once been unwise enough to voice his worries only to be reduced to silence when Catherine had simply pointed at him and raised her eyebrows. The remaining items on display included a few ornaments, presumably infused with personal significance for his daughter, and a couple of family group photographs, or to be accurate, photographs of Catherine, Jane and Graham**. ** Harry's hurt at being excluded was slightly eased by the accompanying absence of anything featuring Catherine's stepfather. Although relieved not to be confronted with the smug features of Robin this omission did seem strange and confirmed Harry's growing suspicion that Jane's second twirl around the matrimonial maypole may not have been completely harmonious. That would account for her otherwise inexplicable failure to drag up his attempt to rearrange Robin's face when he'd accused the pair of them of having an affair, and her unexpected conciliatory remarks in the cafe. Other than discovering what his son looked like these days he'd drawn a blank in the information stakes. Maybe the women had had more luck in gleaming something positive concerning the mystery of Catherine's whereabouts.

His first glance when they reappeared told him that this hope was stillborn. Jane was looking despondent. Erin explained. "No sign of any clothes being packed, toothbrush, hair equipment left behind and as far as Jane can tell all her usual items are still here, including the bag she keeps handy for a quick exit."

"Hmm so no sign of her being dragged out of here then."

Jane interrupted, "Harry if she walked out of here to meet someone I think she expected to return. Not only has she left all the usual paraphernalia women take over night but we found also her contraceptive pills – the pack was only half used. If she'd expected to be away overnight she'd probably have taken them with her."

"She may carry a spare pack for emergencies or rely on an alternative method."

"Possible but unlikely," at his sceptical expression Jane's pent up exasperation began to intrude. "Surely at your age you know how the pill works. Besides which the one piece of advice I did drum into her was never ever rely on a man to take precautions, they don't get pregnant so they get careless."

Catapulted once more into his Berlin based past Jane's remark made Harry freeze. Erin, realising the direction his memories were flying in, interjected with 'Good advice' before Jane could register the effect of her words. The sound of Erin's voice recalled Harry to the present as Jane added angrily. "You don't seem too worried!"

It was Harry's turn to become impatient, or as he'd prefer to think of it, realistic. "Jane, the girl is thirty and attractive. I might be more worried if she wasn't on the pill." '_God if she's without it and if they...' _ As he fought down the very thoughts he realised had also occurred to Jane he nearly missed her asking, "Did you find anything? You look disappointed."

"Nothing that really illuminates matters at present but if the books I found are her usual bedtime reading once I get my hands on her I'll be frogmarching her to a therapist. The laptop would have helped. I was looking for a copy of what she was working on. If she took my advice about always keeping an emergency bag I would have hoped that she'd taken it about keeping copies. We'll check the DVD's and ring round the contacts in her address book to see if she's been in touch with anyone recently."

Still grasping at the proverbial straw Harry added, "I'll just examine the kitchen. I know it's unlikely she left anything in there but you never know. Erin can you go and keep a look out for Laura? Dimitri is watching Garside's chum."

When he returned a few minutes later Jane was sitting on the sofa. From his viewing post by the kitchen door he knew from the way her body was shaking that she was crying. This was unusual to say the least. One of Jane's marital virtues, from Harry's point of view, had been that she rarely wept; he found temper so much easier to cope with than tears. Curious to see what could have affected her so badly he approached on silent feet. She had the photo album he'd left on the desk open on her knee. From his vantage point over her shoulder he could see that she was gazing at a small slightly crumpled photograph, a very old one – a family pose featuring themselves with the two children. He remembered it well. Snapped for them by a kindly passing tourist, a souvenir of a brief holiday taken in a vain attempt to repair their marriage shortly after his final return from Berlin. The five year old Catherine, always the Daddy's girl, was clutching his hand as if terrified that he would disappear yet again while she smiled for the camera, Graham aged two, held by Jane, stared directly ahead looking solemn and vaguely confused. Even at the remove of twenty five years plus Jane was still recognisable, whereas Harry had difficulty in identifying himself with the man captured here, slim with a full head of hair. Both of them frozen in time, wearing fixed teeth revealing smiles conniving at the illusion they'd still been projecting of a happily married couple**. **Within a few short weeks their marriage had folded. The events surrounding his assault on Robin plus the promise of promotion at the conclusion of yet another risky operation had been the final straw. Jane had thrown him out for the night, run home to mother and returned only when he'd decamped to the grotty flat now occasionally used for Sunstrike Protocol.

Harry didn't need to ask what the problem was, he knew, his own eyelids were prickling. Jane must have sensed him standing behind her as she murmured "Harry I'm sorry - it's just..." she mumbled in a tear choked voice. As she began to weep again Harry moved around to sit beside her. It was a heartrending sight and while he was tempted to put a comforting arm around her he was unwilling to risk facial damage–as Harry knew from painful experience it wasn't only Jane's tongue that could deliver a sting.

As the sobs grew louder he finally sighed, "Jane I know you don't cry as a rule, so I suppose that explains your ignorance of basic feminine knowledge." A pair of grey eyes swimming with tears peered up at him questioningly. "If there's an available shoulder to cry on, use it." With that he took a chance and pulled her body into his. He felt her tense for a moment and braced himself for the inevitable slapped face: instead she suddenly relaxed into a rag doll floppy posture and buried her face in his coat. He let her cry for a few minutes and then as he felt the sobs beginning to subside leant over the back of the sofa to the desk where a box of paper handkerchiefs was providentially at hand. Pulling a couple of tissues from its top he handed them to her.

"Here. Blow and wipe any part of your face that feels damp."

Jane managed a watery chuckle as she lifted her head from his shoulder to take his advice. "Yes Professor Higgins – sorry I can't do a Cockney accent."

Taking advantage of Jane's restoration to something approaching normal, even if she still fell somewhat short of her usual cutting standards, Harry removed the album from her hands.

"I think we'll take this with us as well."

"It might be all we're left with of her." Judging by the sob this ended on Jane's recovery had been short lived.

Watching her ravaged face Harry's response was instinctive. Grasping her hands he swallowed heavily as he said in a voice of unmistakable sincerity. "Jane I've broken just about every promise I ever made to you but this one I'll keep. Whatever it takes, however dangerous it is, I promise you I'll find her. "

"I can't ask that of you Harry."

"You haven't. But do you seriously think I'd save my life at the expense of hers?" As Jane took in the implications of his vow he added, "Call it payback."

Jane's forehead wrinkled as she tried to work that last one out, "Payback! I don't understand." _'No you won't. Fortunately I can lie by omission as I can't tell you the entire truth, that this would be the most appropriate way in which to honour the sacrifice of the woman I loved to distraction._'

"Considering my neglect of you and the children I don't expect you to believe this but on more than one occasion it was the three of you that kept me alive. The simple fact that I had something normal, people who might need me made me fight."

Jane nearly burst into tears again but tried to disguise it with a half serious comment; "Well, just bear in mind that if anyone is going to kill you I reserved first place in that particular queue years ago. Being a gentleman you wouldn't deny a lady her pleasure would you?"

Thank God the usual Jane was resurfacing. Now if he could just infuriate her, anything to stop her becoming maudlin...

"Why do you think I ended up having so many affairs?"

Bullseye. Judging by Jane's fuming expression and darting eyes she was considering aiming a conveniently placed ornament in the general direction of his head. Time to retreat back to the subject in hand, "I promise I'll do my best to grant you your wish, but some help would be useful. Would Graham know anything at all? He won't talk to me so I'll need you to contact him."

"Harry I can't do that."

"Jane – never mind that if Graham ever refers to me it's usually in terms of BBC bleeped expletives. We need to talk to him."

"No I mean I can't because I've not spoken to him for the last eighteen months."

"What!" A thunderstruck Harry shouted the word before adding in an equally loud shocked tone, "Why?"

"We had a row."

Harry didn't find this proffered reason particularly satisfactory. "Jane, Graham always has rows with people. It's what he does best– and I'll say it for you, he takes after me. So what was it this time?" adding as an afterthought, "And why on earth didn't you tell me this?"

Forced into one of the admissions Jane had been struggling to avoid she said quietly, "In the end it was about you – don't look at me like that. He didn't agree with some of my decisions, and then we got onto how he'd never had a chance and – well - I lost it and told him that he couldn't blame his rotten decisions entirely on you. I avoided telling him how many times you'd helped him because I knew you wanted to keep that between us. I don't even know what he's doing – he told Catherine not to tell me."

An irritated Harry thought she could have mentioned this earlier and what else was she hiding? Graham might be a stranger to him, but although Harry had known from Catherine that Jane's contact with their son was limited he was astounded to discover that her relationship with Graham had foundered as surely as his own. Jane had been the parent who had been there for them, sheltering them, laughing with them, guiding them. He'd been the absentee, pushed into the sidelines of his children's lives, isolated and disowned, his help spurned and unwanted. But he'd hung on tenaciously, weathered the emotionally draining acrimony in the hope that eventually he'd be needed; a hope that had seemed destined to remain unfulfilled until the day Catherine had accidentally stumbled into an MI5 operation, finally enabling him to fumble his way towards some irregular contact with her. Then had come the Lebanon, after which no one, not even Jane, could have doubted his commitment to his children. Despite this Graham had continued to make it plain that he held his father in contempt. Finally Harry had settled for giving behind the scenes help when required. He had done so willingly although galled that Jane's husband reaped the credit, especially when the git had, with Jane's active connivance, attempted to cut Harry out his children's lives. But what were the decisions Graham had disagreed with so violently? Why had he severed all contact with his mother? As for Jane's reluctance to confide in him he thought he knew the answer to that one. After all the damning comments she'd made over the years about his parenting skills did she want to admit that ultimately she'd failed just as spectacularly with their son. If Harry was being entirely honest a very, very small part of him felt some vindication now that she understood something of the pain he'd suffered when rejected by both children. Nothing however negated the fact that Graham might hold some clues to pertaining to his sister's disappearance, so, whatever Harry's personal feelings this extra complication wasn't exactly a cause for rejoicing.

Accepting the inevitable Harry announced, "We'll trace him. If I have to I'll bring him in to help with enquiries."

"He'll hate you Harry."

"He already does and at this precise moment I'm more concerned about his sister. I'll keep you out of it – with luck he might even turn to you for sympathy." After a pause Harry continued, "But when we get Catherine back we're going to have to sort out some modus operandi. Jane – we simply can't allow her to continually carry the burden of being the family go between."

"I know" – Jane began to cry again, this time leaning into Harry without encouragement. Sitting quietly in a wash of memories with his arm hugging her Harry became aware of a disturbance at the flat entrance. Before he could stand up to investigate its cause the sitting room door burst open. A figure hurtled through the doorway closely followed by a concerned Dimitri, sporting a bleeding nose as he stated thickly, "Sorry Harry but.."

His words were drowned out by another voice, as the intruder having taken in the sight of Harry and Jane seemingly locked in a harmonious clinch, bawled at a deafness inducing volume, "So this is how you get your revenge on _'Rob the Knob'_ for dumping you. I'd have thought you had more self respect than to go back to shagging this fucking tosser."

Disentangling himself from Jane Harry stood up and cast his penetrating gaze over the new arrival as he replied with a dignified coolness that masked his anger.

"Hello Graham. Nice to see you too."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. If you have a moment please review.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to all who reviewed. Sorry about some of the language but Graham is not a happy boy. **

* * *

_Catherine's Flat _

Harry might as well have remained silent. Graham gave no indication of having heard him as he continued to berate both his parents with a foul mouthed rant. Graham's language didn't particularly shock Harry; rather he considered it to be tedious in its monotonous, continuous repetition of the same words. Nor given his age could he act upon Graham's various and unoriginal suggestions. Even in his physically flexible twenties he would have found most of them to be anatomically impossible. He tried to compensate for this boredom by attempting to decipher the specifics of what had gone wrong between Jane and Robin as Graham's accusations were tended towards vague generalities rather than substantiated facts. A very quick glance at Jane revealed an ashen face, whether this was attributable to shock or incipient temper it was impossible to know. Seeing her so shaken stirred Harry's own anger. She had always supported Graham, however inexcusable his behaviour and this was her reward! As Graham continued his scurrilous denouncement Harry saw her shift slightly as if to intervene. He halted her with a surreptitious and fleeting look**.** Jane followed his lead, although puzzled she was also relieved that Harry wasn't responding to Graham's accusations, that it cost him an effort not to do so was obvious**,** she could see a muscle in his cheek twitching. She knew he wasn't scandalized by Graham's obscenities, he would have heard worse in the army. Now that she considered the matter Harry's speech was, given his choice of career, remarkably expletive free, as indeed was that of the Grid despite the comparative youth of its denizens. After years of dealing with teenagers Jane was all too aware that most of the four letter phrases presently spilling from her son's lips where common currency among modern day youth. Her other thought was that if Harry didn't murder Graham she just might. '_Thank you so much Graham for spilling the beans about Robin.' _

Graham eventually wound down, unable to continue shouting at parents who stood mute as statues with a shared stony eyed disgust sculptured across their features. Taking a breather he looked around, searching for the person he'd originally expected to see, and who was, unaccountably absent. Registering this he bawled out at the same ear splitting volume, "Where the hell is Catherine?"

Harry couldn't help himself, after withstanding the last few minutes of blatant incitement his every syllable was infused with a glacial sarcasm. "At last a sensible question."

Graham apparently regarded any reaction on the part of the insulted party of the first part to be provocation. "Don't get snarky with me you prick. Give me a fucking answer."

"Before I do so I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from questioning my parentage, or implying that I had dubious sexual relations with your grandmother."

Standing near the entrance door an astounded Dimitri, all ears and blood leaking nose, was wondering what on earth Harry had done to deserve such loathing from his own son. Graham's attitude made that of the CIA agents thwarted over the Gavrik affair appear amiable. That however was a secondary speculation. Of more immediate personal importance were the odds on whether Harry would present him with a black eye to accompany his throbbing nose. Given his boss's increasingly volatile temper these days this was a distinct possibility, if, or when he finally realised that Dimitri had concealed his suspicions that all was not well with Jane's marriage**.** As Dimitri tried valiantly to avoid bleeding over Catherine's carpet he pondered his chances of avoiding this fate? About fifty fifty he thought. He'd have to throw himself on the mercy of the Section Chief. What price would Erin extract for rescuing him from the wrath of Harry? Would he be up to paying it? Well a man could try.

Graham was prevented from continuing his impersonation of a verbal sewer by the fortuitous arrival of Erin who burst through the kitchen door, speaking rapidly as she updated everyone with the considerably less exciting happenings in the world beyond Catherine's sitting room.

"Harry – Laura's arrived, Robin is in place. He brought a tracker and will try to get it attached to the target just in case he hops into a car. Oh and Calum says he thinks he's got something, he wants to run some further checks to be certain."

Considering the fog through which they'd been groping to acquire any positive Intel Erin's announcement didn't get the clamorous reaction she'd expected. Gazing around she suddenly noticed that the room had sprung an extra body. She paused slightly and then continued her survey of the area, halting at the sight of Dimitri standing bloody and not exactly unbowed.

"Dimitri what have you done to your face?"

Pinching his nose to stop the bleeding made it difficult for Dimitri to supply her with a coherent answer. As Erin's eyes flashed back towards the belligerent newcomer she began to piece together a working theory as to what had taken place in her absence. Her assumptions were helped by the fact that Graham looked startlingly like a younger version of Harry, apart from his eyes; he had his mother's eyes, but with his sulky mien was conspicuously failing to exude the charm of Harry Pearce, let alone that of Harry Potter.

Harry crisply confirmed her suspicion, "Dimitri didn't do anything. I regret to say that my son was responsible."

"Yea well he shouldn't have got in the way. Might have known he was one of your lot. Bloody Gestapo."

Erin's eyes narrowed in fury. Before could she seize Graham and subject him to tortures the SS could only have dreamed of Harry intervened, "Take Dimitri into the kitchen and mop him up. I saw a first aid kit in there. I don't think his nose is broken."

"Well you'd know all about that. Fancy me telling your staff about how you flattened my shit of a stepfather because you thought he was shagging Mum, when you should have been home giving her one yourself."

Before Graham could add anything further Harry waved Erin and Dimitri into the kitchen. With luck they'd be so engrossed in trying to restore Dimitri's good looks they'd be deaf to whatever else Graham thought fit to publicise.

While Harry was speaking to his staff Graham had been staring searchingly at his mother. He noticed the tired eyes, pale strained face and, more ominously, the purple bruising on her cheek and reached his inescapable conclusion.

"How dare you knock Mum around – you bastard!"

With that he lunged towards Harry, unwisely forgetting that his father was combat trained. Harry, who had faced infinitely more experienced adversaries simply shifted his weight and swayed aside, allowing Graham's own momentum to carry him forward without obstruction. Graham's fist brushed past Harry's ear hitting the wall with a smack. Simultaneously Harry's field fighter reflexes kicked in as he directed a firm punch at Graham's solar plexus. Whether due to Graham's speed or Harry's lack of recent practice his aim slightly misfired and he caught Graham in the groin. If Graham had been suffering from the delusion that his formidable father had softened with age the eye watering experience of being punched in the balls by knuckles resembling a sledgehammer swiftly disabused him of the notion; or would have done if he'd been able to think at all beyond the agonising pain. Doubled up and gasping he was only dimly aware of his father thrusting him into a nearby armchair.

Having satisfied himself that any further violent attacks by Graham seemed unlikely to materialise during the next few minutes Harry turned to Jane.

"Sorry about that Jane. He can call me what he likes, but I do draw the line at being thumped by him."

Harry awaited inevitable denunciation from Jane condemning his lack of self control followed by the joint family recriminations on his morals, profession and complete existence; a narrative that was just as boringly repetitive as Graham's language. Jane however, considering the episode she'd just witnessed, concluded that Harry's only alternative action would have been to allow Graham to flatten him. While she supposed she loved her son at this precise moment he was doing nothing to endear himself to her. For once, uniquely in the annals of their family story, she was on Harry's side.

"It's okay Harry – self defence I'll accept. I'm quite flattered at your copying my move." Harry looked puzzled for a moment before he remembered how she'd escaped from the teenage thug who'd threatened her.

Graham's wheezing drew their joint attention. "Don't apologise to me you bas..."

Harry cut across his words, "Yes I know I'm a bastard. Find another insult. Graham, to answer your question we don't know where Catherine is. We were going to contact you to see if you knew anything, so amazingly, I'm quite pleased to see you. As for the bruising, your mother got that when she was blown into the road last night by whoever dreamed up the jolly jape of bombing Catherine's flat."

Graham appeared to be having some difficultly in processing this. Not surprisingly given that his brain was still befogged with pain, the location of which made it impossible for him to unfasten his trousers and massage the afflicted area. Harry smiled grimly to himself. Graham's outburst regarding the fall of the previously much garlanded Robin from his undeserved pedestal had been enlightening but he'd still prefer to have any remaining unexpurgated details relayed to him by Jane. Before they could continue with what, in the Pearce family, passed for a civilized conversation the young policeman who was guarding the flat entrance door appeared. For a fleeting moment Harry wondered if he was going to attempt a group arrest on the grounds of anti social behaviour. The Head of Counter Terrorism issued with an ASBO due to a family row! After the various dark and dirty deeds he'd sanctioned it reminded him of the Americans finally getting Al Capone on tax evasion.

"Sorry Sir but the man your officer was watching, I thought you'd want to know that he's moved off."

Recalled to the reason for their presence in the flat Harry acknowledged this news with, "Thanks. I need to have a word with you and possibly contact your superior about what needs to be done when we finish here." Glancing at the kitchen door he added, "I'll be out in a minute. I just want to check my officer first."

Fixing Graham with a stare he made his request, "Try to have a sensible talk with your mother." The jaded voice with which he uttered the words implied that it was something of a forlorn hope.

Jane recognised his manoeuvre for what it was; an excuse to leave her with Graham to make their peace. During the Harry and Graham's father son bonding session she'd been wishing that it was still possible to put Graham over her knee prior to giving him a good spanking. Consequently she wasn't sure that she wanted to accept the proffered opportunity. She noticed that Harry, having issued his exhortation to their son, was headed towards the kitchen. In an effort to delay his exit she felt impelled to say: "Harry I'm sure that Dimitri would rather have Erin kissing him better than suffer your ministrations."

Oops. Smiling slightly Harry replied to her rebuke without any heat, "Damn it, are you ever wrong." As he changed direction to head towards the entrance hall instead he saw an answering quirk.

"Of course not. I'm a woman"

She wasn't getting away with that one. Having reached the doorway he turned before making good his escape. "We'll continue this debate later. I was rather under the impression that you thought you'd made one huge mistake when you said '_I will'_."

Graham was suffering from emotional disorientation, to his certain knowledge his parents had hardly spoken in the last ten years. Prior to that their interactions had been made uninformed bystanders wonder if they'd accidentally wandered into a rehearsal for World War Three. He couldn't remember a time when they hadn't argued viciously. Now not only had he caught them hugging one another but their entire demeanour radiated the aura of a couple on easy terms.

The sight of eyes, so closely resembling her own, staring back at her disconcerted advantage of her unexpected silence Graham lost no time in picking up Harry's parting theme, "Well you certainly pick wrong un's for husbands. What the hell were you doing snogging Dad?"

The unfairness of the accusation infuriated Jane. Few knew better than her the methods Harry employed to seduce and during the past few hours he'd been scrupulously avoiding any action that smacked of their employment. Nor, despite what Graham may have assumed, had she forgiven Harry for all the pain he had so carelessly inflicted in their past. She now understood more clearly the pressures he'd faced, and with that understanding had come a remembrance of his better qualities, the ones that had finally overcome her initial dislike of him. This had gone some way towards demolishing the wall of hatred she'd constructed over the years but it neither did it make her forget Harry at his feckless, brutal worst. The last few hours though had reminded her of the one obvious fact she'd tried to suppress since their divorce; he was the father of her children, he cared deeply for them and by extension he would therefore do everything in his considerable power to ensure the safety of their mother. In her increasingly uncertain personal world, culminating in the strange events of yesterday evening his solid, concerned presence had suddenly become surprisingly reassuring. Graham's unfair suspicions weren't the only reason for Jane's anger. Her disastrous history with Robin, the one remaining secret she'd hoped to conceal from Harry, and Graham had yelled it aloud, in front of Dimitri to boot. She believed Harry's assertion that he didn't check covertly on his family, his flicker of astonishment at Graham's revelation was proof of that. Once his curiosity had been piqued though it would take more self control than she suspected he possessed to resist the temptation to ferret out the humiliating details. He was after all a spy. The last time he'd bent his full professional armoury in her direction Robin had ended up with a broken nose. Although this time around she'd be inclined to cheer him on, after certain passages in their past she couldn't stand the idea that he might quietly crow to himself. Nor did she want kindness; pity would undermine the tenuous strength she was surviving on. Graham, knowing nothing of her thoughts, simply saw a pair of flinty grey eyes staring him down.

"We weren't snogging, or shagging, as you so delightfully phrased it. Your father was simply trying to comfort me."

Graham snorted "Looked like it. You know him, sticks his dick up with anything in a skirt, – and you're no fucking snow white princess either."

"Graham I don't know which upsets me more, your stupidity in even thinking I'd do anything as tasteless as having an affair with your father or your ignorance of basic grammar. If you must use such appalling language kindly remember that fucking is a verb not an adjective."

"Great! Dad comes over all MI5 and assaults me, and you come over all school teacher. That's what I need. No wonder both your husbands dumped you. You're as bad as Dad. Both of you are so fu...utterly wrapped up in your jobs you never bothered with me and Catherine. And that was before we had to put up with bloody Robin – any idea what it was like having a mother giving personal services to the Headmaster? God why did you two ever have kids? If you're getting back with Dad you bloody well deserve each other. I hope you sodding well make each other as miserable as you've made me."

Jane had promised herself that when she met her son again she'd not lose her temper. Now confronted by a twenty nine year old whose self absorbed mantra of '_me, me, me'_ apparently took precedence over the gravity attached to his sister's disappearance, that vow survived about as long as an icicle on the Equator. Worried about her daughter and looking at his contemptuous expression she, in the sloppy parlance that she'd normally condemn, lost it.

"Don't push me. So far in the last twenty four hours I've endured a train journey, a cab driver who thinks the late Princess of Wales is still alive and gave me his conspiracy theory at length, I've been bombed into the middle of the road outside, carted into casualty by a disgustingly cheery paramedic, drunk foul coffee in a nearby cafe that should be closed down on hygiene grounds and nearly collapsed into a pile of dog shit. My clothes were destroyed so I'm currently wearing another women's underwear and your father's spare outfit, ie that of a man in his late fifties who apparently thinks not wearing a tie is a fashion statement while hoping desperately that I don't end up mooning courtesy of a jogger malfunction, which is quite likely given that he's considerably wider around the waist than I am. Putting up with your father is minor in comparison. Anyway at this moment he's far too focussed on finding Catherine to even think about getting frisky with me, ever assuming that I agreed to anything of that nature, which I wouldn't." Taking a further breath and advantage of Graham's thunderstruck face she finished "And why the hell do you think that I should have to justify my actions to you anyway? You and your sister have both made it clear that you have your own lives. Fair enough but I'm also entitled to mine and to keep my own secrets – and so for that matter is your father." '_And I know he's not telling me something that is upsetting him badly.'_

"Fat help he's ever been. Look what he's just done to me."

Harry reappearing at this opportune moment overheard this last; "Yes Graham. For your information MI5 officers are hardwired to react when attacked. I'm not apologising and I don't assume that your Mum, to use her earlier phrase, is going to kiss that particular part of your anatomy better." Out of the corner of his eye he saw an embarrassed Jane trying to suppress a blush. Seemingly his throwaway comment had stirred a few recollections. '_Well we both have enough bitter memorie__**s**__ to dwell on, why not remember some of the better times?_' Wanting to give her time to compose herself he continued, "If it's alright I'm sending you now to get some clothes."

Jaen hesitated, she knew exactly what happened when this pair got together. If Graham persisted with his current behaviour Harry was likely to combust. Harry read the doubts flowing across her face.

"Don't worry Jane –I promise you we'll be sensible. I'm sure Graham will realise that pounding me to a pulp won't help to find his sister, besides you need something to wear if you're representing MI5 tomorrow. "

Jane had temporarily forgotten about that but she was still reluctant to follow Harry's suggestion, or was it an order? "Actually I'd be okay in this – they'd probably think I was being cutting edge."

Harry pretended to consider before stating positively, "We'll rely on your tongue for that."

"Thinking about that meeting reminds me- any paper and pencil here?

"Yes." Harry waved his hand towards the desk, "But.."

Ignoring his questioning expression Jane moved to the desk, sat down, picked up a pencil, looked thoughtful and then indulged in a few moments of hasty scribbling. Standing up she handed Harry a list. It was headed '_Target Audience_" followed by '_Plays being considered'_ and several similar jottings concluding with _'Anything else helpful?_" Harry's bemused face dissolved as Jane explained. "A few pieces of information that I need for tomorrow. Ask Dimitri."

Harry didn't know how Dimitri would react to such a proactive stance, especially in his now debilitated state. But Harry had tried to warn him, Jane was to an English literature project what a Rottweiler's teeth were to a burglar's leg, bloody tenacious. He took the paper and was about to go in search of Nurse Erin when Jane suddenly vanished towards the bathroom. Judging by the echoing sounds that emerged her visit was not to satisfy any usual purpose. He heard triumphant cry of, 'Got it' but before he could **i**ndulge in any mind boggling fantasies she returned flourishing a tablet of soap which she proceeded to stuff into his hand.

"Here Harry. You may want to use this if Graham fails to expand his vocabulary into something that Keats, Milton or Shakespeare might have acknowledged."

Personally Harry thought that Shakespeare at least would have recognised the Elizabethan equivalent of Graham's language, if only through vocal criticisms from the groundlings re some of his wordier passages '_Come on Hamlet, stop yacking and get it on with Ophelia.'_ but he was grateful to Jane for exhibiting an unlooked for solidarity. Deciding to preserve his energy to argue with Graham, and keen to get Jane removed before their son forced him into actions that would crack their hard won unity he strode kitchenwards. "Erin".

Erin reappeared casting a freezing glance at Graham. Jane may have won over the hearts of his team but Graham was definitely persona non grata. Harry decided not to prolong matters. His retaliation assault on Graham may have put the prospect of grandchildren in doubt but Erin looked as though she would like convert that into a certainty. "Erin can you take Jane and introduce her to Laura? Make sure that Laura knows that if they encounter any problems whatsoever she or Jane must contact the Grid at once."

"Er Harry. Any chance I can remove these earrings? My street doesn't exactly go in for chav culture." Jane, assuming consent made a movement towards her earlobes, but was disappointed by Harry's answer.

"No. As a teacher regard it as a professional task to broaden their snobbish horizons. Laura will bring you back to the Grid, and remember to collect your bank details"

At Jane's puzzled look he added, "Credit cards – etc all went up so we need to sort that."

She nodded before turning to Graham, "I never thought I'd hear myself say these words, but please do as your father asks, he's our best bet to get Catherine back safely. And Harry, just for once try to prove to Graham that having an MI5 officer as a parent might be a blessing rather than a curse "

"Take care Jane. I don't want to see you in danger again."

"I will. And as you've got a gun, keep out of the way of bullets." The words burnt into his brain flew into the forefront of his mind,_**' '**__Take good care, Ruth.' 'And you. Don't get shot''_**.** Harry swallowed hard before responding to Jane's inadvertent paraphrase of the words spoken by a departing Ruth years ago. Ruth's exile; how ironical that he now wished that that had been their final goodbye. At the time he'd thought that guilt was unbearable, but at least Ruth had been alive and free, now...now he had to answer Jane.

"Watch it. I'll start to think you care."

Jane had noted the pause, but having just informed their son that Harry had a right to his secrets this was not the time to probe. Would it ever be? Wanting to conceal her peek into his personal agony she replied lightly, "Of course I don't. I just hate wearing black. See you later."

With that the women departed. Turning to look at his son Harry appraised his appearance. Despite being thinner than Harry thought looked good on his frame he appeared healthier than he had the last time Harry had viewed him, about five years ago through a two way mirror in a police station. On that occasion Graham looking pale and drawn, was being quizzed by a member of the Drug Squad on suspicion of pushing. Harry's presence had been due to a tip off from someone in the squad who had appreciated the political value of keeping the infamous Sir Harry Pearce onside**.** Satisfied that Graham at worst would be charged with possession Harry, knowing that speed was of the essence and, courtesy of Catherine, that Jane and Robin were out of the country, had ended up sorting out the defending solicitor. Graham of course had assumed that Robin had dealt with it. Fat chance, in fact Harry had received a furious letter via his own solicitor complaining about his interference, although not, he'd noted a promise to reimburse him. At the time he'd assumed that the complaint had originated from Jane but in view of their earlier conversation and outline details vouchsafed by Graham he began to wonder.

The sight of his father standing silent while raking him with his eyes unnerved Graham as he said, "Dad."

Harry took a breath before he said, "I assume your mother told you what has happened and why we need you."

"You know Mum, she exaggerates."Graham, judging by his offhand dismissal of Harry's statement, was distinctly unimpressed by this information.

"Not this time, I can show you the footage. You were damn near stuck with just one parent plus, of course, your highly esteemed stepfather."

Graham still failed to look convinced.

"I still don't see why I should help you after everything you've done for me, not."

Harry pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. Strangulation was not an option. With his luck he'd get a jury of touchy feely anti establishment psychologists emphasising with Graham's pain while condemning Harry for not getting in touch with his feminine side. More importantly he didn't want to lose Jane's trust, he'd disappointed her too often in the past.

"You're not helping me as a person, you're helping to find Catherine. After all the support she's given you I think you owe her something."

Graham digested this before saying with a sneer, "And how can I help the great almighty Sir Harry Pearce. Cut price James Bond and crap father."

"Let James Bond be the judge of that. Try for the moment to forget I'm your father."

"Wish I fucking could."

Ignoring this interjection Harry cut to the chase, "Tell me, why did you come round today?"

Graham was considering his words. His answer when it came was brief, "I was worried about Catherine." Seeing his father's eyes boring into him he felt forced to expand. "I've popped around a couple of times recently and got the impression that she was abstracted, worried and then the last time, two days ago there was this bloke here. He seemed pleasant but I didn't like him. I asked Catherine, she said he was helping her with something."

"Why not?" Seeing that he hadn't been entirely clear Harry added, "Why did you dislike him?"

Graham thought for a moment, and then muttered, "Don't know. I just did, nothing I can put my finger on, just a feeling," Staring at his father he said truculently "Probably nothing, I distrust most people."

"So do I these days," '_The only person I trusted implicitly and who never let me down died in my arms'_– "and much as you may hate the thought I think you've inherited more from me that you'd like." Graham looked as if he wanted to vomit. "That feeling – in my line we call it spook instinct – it's saved my life more than once."

"Pity."

"Yes agreed, on one occasion it was before you were conceived. If you want to be a comedian join the Edinburgh Fringe, but before you set off to Hibernia one further question- could you put a picture of that man together?"

"Probably."

Erin had just returned – as Dimitri emerged from the kitchen, his nose bruised and horribly swollen but thankfully not spurting blood any longer. Judging by the look he cast at Graham had they been at sea by now his son would be have been thrown overboard, without the benefit of a life jacket.

"Then Graham I have no alternative. I'm going to have to arrest you and take you to the Grid for questioning. Dimitri can you and Erin take him out?"

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**Thanks for reading. If you have time please review. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Many thanks for the reviews. I've used ideas from a couple of them in this chapter**_. _

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_Catherine's flat_

Graham began to shout indignantly, initially missing the broad grins decorating the features of Erin and Dimitri. Infuriated by the implied mockery his face began to flush with anger. As his body stiffened and fists began to ball his father hurried to explain. "No Graham not really – but we need to keep our security cover. You stormed in through the front door, past a policeman. So you exit that way as well, while I go out the back."

Graham didn't look convinced, plaintively whining, "But I thought the chap had moved."

"Yes but the CCTV is still on. Don't argue, just go with Dimitri. Pretend you're under arrest." Noting Graham's scowl Harry added somewhat tactlessly, "You've had plenty of practice. I'm sure you can look convincing."

Graham's reaction to this vote of parental confidence was to glower at Dimitri, "I'll knock his bloody teeth out if he tries anything. Sodding spooks, more like thugs."

Dimitri, whose nose was still suffering the after effects of Graham's arrival, wasn't inclined to put up with any more nonsense from that young man. Deciding that he might as well comply with Graham's stereotyping Dimitri enquired with unmistakable menace, "Do you fancy a broken arm?"

Harry groaned inwardly. He didn't have time for this. He'd already wasted more minutes than he'd liked explaining procedure to Jane. He really didn't fancy a repeat performance with their son, especially since Jane's surprising receptiveness to the ambience of the spying world was unlikely to be echoed by Graham. The brewing argument was halted by the ear piercing squeal of brakes from outside. This high pitched racket was speedily followed by the sound of an engine being cut and car doors slamming. Voices and the crunch of heavy boots alerted them to the intended public arrival of an unknown quality. Whoever it was didn't seem to be influenced by considerations of secrecy. Erin who was nearest to the window peeked through the half closed blinds and announced.

"Police. Uniformed branch. Inspector I think, with a Sergeant."

The steady tread of feet up the pathway and murmured voices at the gaping hole now representing the flats' communal entrance indicated that the new arrivals were consulting with their on duty colleague. After this quick halt one set of footsteps could be heard moving into Catherine's hallway, a slight delay implying that their owner was trying to suss out the internal geography of the flat. The feet moved again, the rustle of a uniform coat now also evident, followed by the opening of the sitting room door. The man Erin had identified as the Inspector walked in. His air of authority was palpable, his expression implying that he'd endured enough nonsense for one day and was seeking a suitable object on which to vent his ire**. **Presumably the designated victim of the forthcoming harangue was whosoever was currently the onsite commander at the scene**.** Harry moved backwards into a shaded position out of the direct eye line of the door. A foolish man would assume he was nervous and seeking to avoid confrontation, a wise one would realise that he was following military precepts and holding his fire until he'd assessed the enemy's defences. Depending upon which category the Inspector fell into, this, Erin thought, could be interesting, Uniformed Plod v Anonymous Spook. For herself she'd bet on Harry. She confidentially awaited the opening of hostilities. If the new arrival had intended to commence Operation _'What the_ _Hell's Going on Here'_ the anticipated faceoff was postponed by Graham's disgusted utterance.

"More bloody establishment – it's like living in a fucking police state."

The Inspector's head swivelled round immediately to take in the unprepossessing sight of Graham who'd remained squatting in the armchair, one hand still clutching his genitals. Hunched up with his scowling face and unshaven chin he resembled a denim clad representation of the missing link. With an air of imitation weariness betrayed by the crisp tone of his response the newcomer replied, "I've heard it all before laddie. My officer tells me you're Harry Pearce's son. All I can say to you Graham Pearce is that it's a great pity that the Official Secrets Act prohibited your father from telling you what a police state is really like."

Graham just snorted. "It's Townsend, Graham Townsend you ignorant plod. Do you think I want to own up to him as my bloody father?" The statement was accompanied by a sketchy two fingered salute. Its vague direction making it was unclear as to whether it was directed towards the Inspector or his vilified progenitor.

Erin and Dimitri were honestly beginning to wonder how Graham had managed to survive this long. He was without doubt the most obnoxious, self absorbed, whinging little shit that it had ever been their fate to meet. Erin during her time in Section D had considered nominating Harry for a variety of awards, "_First Class Mentor with Irritating Attitude_", "_Most Secretive Consumer of Ardberg in MI5_", "_Greatest Thorn in the DG's Backside_" but too date had thought that "_Saint Harry of the Grid"_ would have been a push too far. Now, having spent the last half hour revelling in the pleasure of Graham's company, she was seriously debating whether she could realistically recommend Harry for canonisation, citing his sterling refusal to respond to the continuous goading.

The Inspector cast a pitying glance at Graham. With a vague shrug of his shoulders he indicated that the discussion was terminated as he raked the room with his eyes. Finally he picked out Harry lurking by the desk, his presence conveniently shadowed by the limited light allowed through the partially obscured windows.

"Ah Sir Harry. Sorry I didn't recognise you. I thought you didn't do undercover work these days."

This was a statement rather than a question but before Harry could respond Graham's voice from behind was heard to mutter, "Number of women he's shagged, never done anything else". At this point Dimitri finally lost patience as he seized a throw from the chair back, which then magically wrapped itself around Graham's head. Being a considerate sort of chap Dimitri left Graham with just enough room to breath. Humanitarian considerations aside suffocating the boss's son, however ghastly he might be, was probably not be the smartest of career moves for an aspiring spook.

Without missing a beat the Inspector said to Harry "Yours? You have my sympathy." The dull inflection of disdain belied his words, the subtext of which was '_How come you've not subjected that little sod to some discipline.'_

Harry picking up the underlying intimation didn't blame him. The man wasn't to know that Graham had been brain washed by a middle class champagne swilling libertarian. At this precise moment Harry was sending telepathic hate waves towards whichever quarter of the globe was currently housing Robin the Smug. Harry's views on anti establishment tree hugging environmental activists, unrepeatable in polite company after three glasses of whisky, were positively benign compared to those he held on odious little squits of Robin's ilk. Educated individualists replete with possessions, blaming all the troubles of the socially depraved upon hard line establishment policies, until reality in the shape of burglars invaded their cosy little enclaves. Faced with the underclass in action they then demanded an instant response from the very police they had joyfully lambasted as fascists, further compounding this total hypocrisy with complaints regarding the inadequacy of the judiciary in handing down proportionate sentences, preferably ones involving castration.

Not wishing to stray into the realms of his family's dysfunctional history, a saga which made the average soap opera look realistic, Harry replied evenly but shortly, "Thanks for being so understanding. I assume this is not a social call. Would I be correct in thinking that the officer who was killed was one of yours?"

The inspector nodded. "And your interest? I know the MI5 do have to be involved but aren't you a little – ." He hesitated: '_too old, too senior to be involved in this._' Not tactful, but he was curious, surely Harry Pearce was several pay grades above this level of field work? Wasn't this enquiry a little too domestic and minor to merit the personal involvement of the Head of Domestic Counter Terrorism? A man who hobnobbed with the Home Secretary and who had ceased to be a foot soldier at least two decades ago.

Harry's response was succinct. "My daughter's flat, which is roughly why the foul mouthed individual currently imitating an Egyptian artefact is here. We think he might be able to help." Not being certain how long Graham could be contained and anxious to avoid much more public humiliation he added, "Could we talk in the kitchen away from the lower ranks." Moving in the designated direction he missed Erin's roll of the eyes. She hated it went Harry went all army on her: at times like this she was in sympathy with Laura's publicly overheard description, '_Dinosaur'_ was, on occasions, apt. Her irritation was short lived. Listening to the muffled oaths escaping from the mummified Graham she realised that Harry's action was not an attempt to deliberately exclude his staff but was due to his wanting not to be further embarrassed by his son. That this had forced him to sideline his subordinates only added to Erin's budgeoning loathing of Pearce, sorry Townsend, Junior. Watching Graham's attempts to struggle free from his confining cloth Erin rather wished that about thirty years ago Jane had taken her own advice on contraception.

Having managed to remove the Inspector from the field of his family conflict Harry, for the second time in the day, found himself seated opposite an involved but hostile individual. Across the scrubbed wood of the kitchen table the two men eyed each other up warily. The Inspector cracked first. "My name's Thomas, Thomas Bennett. I'm about to visit the family of the officer who was killed. I needed to see the scene for myself. They will want to know some details. Need to know doesn't just apply to what MI5 see fit to tell their companion services.**" **These last words were uttered in a voice that made manifest the resentment that the uniforms felt at being held at arm's length by their security counterparts.

Harry nodded, he recognized all too clearly the pain in the other man's eyes. _Helen, Danny, Colin,_ _Adam, Ros, Tariq...Ruth_, the continual nagging guilt that he had sent them to their deaths, that he still breathed. Even worse the agony of their families and the secrecy he had to maintain. He'd never got used to it. What he'd told Erin a few months ago was true; sending others to sacrifice themselves was harder than facing death yourself. Each subsequent occasion when he had had to break bad news to families had been worse than the last. At least if he himself had been killed, as he'd confidently expected on more than one occasion, no one would have regretted his loss for long. Did the fact that he would never be mourned or missed as a person rather than as a colleague make him lucky or unlucky?

"I know, I've had to visit relatives myself. The distress, especially when you can't tell them the truth; bad for us, worse for the families." Thomas Bennett stared at him in shock. Harry Pearce was known as a hard man, well '_Total bastard'_ was nearer the mark, and somehow that reputation didn't quite match the man he was viewing across the table, a man whose sorrowful eyes expressed his total understanding of the position Bennett found himself in. He saw Harry swallow before continuing in a voice loaded with obvious truth, "Unfortunately we rather need to know ourselves. Literally all I can tell you is that the place was being watched, the bomb was planned, my daughter has vanished for reasons we have yet to discover, and my son thinks a man he met here a couple of days ago maybe a link."

Having been subjected to the full force of Graham's delightful personality Bennett wondered if he should puncture the flicker of vague hope he detected in Harry's final words by expressing doubts concerning the veracity of anything his son could mention. This awkward decision was interrupted by the sound of his mobile. "Excuse me but...

"I know you need to take the call." How often had Harry been in that position himself?

As Harry listened to Bennett's side of the conversation he realised that something important had occurred.

"Yes, you're sure about the identification. I'll tell the Security Services, as it happens I'm with them at the moment. Yes I'll have to see Andy's family after I leave here. Wait until Section D get in touch. Thanks."

Putting his phone away Bennett turned a graveyard face towards Harry. "Not good news. We've found a body floating in the Thames."

Harry felt as if the world was swirling in slow motion as he processed the implications. "_Oh God_ _Catherine._" His best hope now was that it had been instant and clean. Clean: what a phrase to use about murder, but then when you'd seen what he had...memories of identifying Helen Flynn post deep fat fryer, the photographs of Zaf unrecognisable, his friend Bill tortured with flame, all permanently imprinted on his retina and logged in his memory, "_please tell me it was a quick bullet for my daughter_"...in the seconds it took him to relive the past he'd missed a few words and resurfaced into the present to hear Bennett saying, "...the man who stole the laptop. Unfortunately he went into the river with a bullet through the head. Hit man it would seem."

Harry could hardly believe this. The relief: Catherine was safe, or at least wasn't the victim dumped in the Thames like some piece of minor flotsam. He recovered himself enough to say, "It tells us what we already knew. That there's some serious money and organisation behind this. At least you can reassure the family that the bastard who did the killing is dead." Almost as an afterthought he added "Do you know anything about our fish food friend?"

"As it happens yes. Small time petty thief with a drug habit. We'll send his file over but my guess would be that he was paid to break in. I'm not sure that telling Andrew's family that he was killed by accident will help them."

Harry knew what he meant, none better. "Then don't. The man is dead and your officer was doing his duty. That makes him heroic. We'll eventually get the culprits behind this. As you know for me it's personal." Bennett, as he stood up to leave, recalled some of the rumours circulating about Sir Harry's past exploits. In the last few minutes he'd forgotten this when met with unexpected understanding. Suddenly, as he noted the grim set mouth, he didn't envy the shadow men when they were eventually tracked down. Reassured that the man in front of him would keep his promise, even if only detail he personally wanted to receive was a phone call announcing that his officer had been avenged, Bennett offered his hand. "Good luck. I'll arrange to have the front boarded and no doubt you'll liaise about keeping a further watch." Picking up his hat he strode out leaving Harry thoughtful.

He'd seen the flare of doubt in the Bennett's eyes and interpreted it. He'd had the same thought the instant the word drugs had entered the conversation. It was a horrible suspicion but Graham had been part of that narcotic ridden world. As far as Harry knew he was clean, but how far was that really? Was it possible that Graham was screwed up enough to be involved with the theft and murder? Was his visit today due to worry about his sister? On his current showing Graham's concerns began and ended with Graham. Harry knew that he himself was prone to self pity on occasion but Graham had apparently elevated it to an art form. What evidence did he really have that the mystery man was not a red herring? It was a terrible dilemma but could he trust his son? He wanted to, but memories of his betrayed faith in Connie James and Lucas North had proved how foolish it could be to ignore commonsense in favour of misplaced personal loyalties. Alternatively of course Graham may not be lying, and to suggest otherwise could send him into lockdown, depriving them of vital information. Best not to mention his worries at present, Graham's behaviour had already riled his team, and how exactly would Jane respond to such unproven accusations? Twenty four hours ago he'd have assumed that she'd leap to the automatic defence of her not so darling boy, but after the passages about half an hour ago he wouldn't care to predict her reactions. He now understood why Mr Spook the Spy, Mrs Spook and their offspring had been excluded from the '_Happy Families'_ card game. Anyone trying to unite them was doomed to lose.

Emerging from the kitchen in Bennett's wake Harry noticed that Graham's head had arisen from his temporary muffler.

"Right let's go. There's been a development so we need to get back to the Grid. Erin and Dimitri you go with Graham."

Three faces looked glum at this prospect of enforced mutual confinement even for the time it took to reach the Grid. Dimitri made no attempt to move as Erin suddenly objected, "But Harry that means you'll be on your own."

"I think I can manage to cope Erin. I'm not senile."

"Yet." Graham added, "but you've always been mental, look at how you've treated us. First time you see me for years and you thump me."

He might as well not have spoken. Erin was more concerned with Harry's safety than Graham's complaints. Choosing not to feed Graham's self image of victimhood she continued to address Harry. "That's not what I'm saying and you know it."

Erin was determined and while Harry was grateful for her concern it placed him at something of an impasse. In truth driving back to the Grid on his own was somewhat different to his three minutes of solitude in the cafe and would go against Tower's express instructions. This in itself wouldn't worry Harry, he'd made a lifetime habit of ignoring politicians, but at this precise juncture the prospect of being lifted by the CIA was even less appealing than usual. Equally he didn't fancy leaving Graham on his own with either officer. He wasn't sure about his son's safety if Erin wasn't present to calm Dimitri down, and after Graham's masterly description of his mother he'd prefer Erin to be accompanied by Dimitri**.** Opening his mouth in an attempt to square this circle whatever he'd intended to say was stalled the sound of someone creeping quietly through the back door. Erin and Harry swiftly drew their guns and moved to either side of the likely entrance. Graham began to mutter, 'What the.." only to be silenced by Dimitri's hand firmly clapped over his mouth. The door opened. Erin put her gun to the head of a slim nondescript figure clad in grey as it strolled in from the kitchen.

Erin gasped. "Robin, you gave us a shock."

Robin, unfazed by the minor detail of having a gun waving around his earlobe laughed. "Hi – it looks like it." Moving forward he added in an amused voice, "Do put that down Erin, you can see I'm not a terrorist." As Erin complied he explained, "I managed to get a tracker on chummy, just as well, he wandered off and was picked up by a car. I couldn't follow but I did get the number so I let the Grid know, I thought I'd wander back here to see if I could hike a lift."

An obviously relieved Erin rediscovering her Section Head mantle began to organise the exit logistics. "Okay – Harry you can go with Robin."

"Exactly who is in charge here?"

"You're under cover and incognito Harry, so I am."

"We'll debate that later, for now I'll defer to your arrangements." Bowing to the inevitable and looking at his watch Harry continued, "When you arrive back at the Grid I expect my Section Head get Dimitri and Graham to the medic. And considering the time can you ring Towers and postpone our meeting for an hour? Tell him something came up."

"Yea your fist. Thanks Dad now I've got to put up with some pervy medico staring at my prick and caressing my knackers."

"Trust me Graham with what they see in MI5 it takes something really big to get them excited. I doubt your todger would measure up."

"Are you saying I've got no balls? I've got more than you and PC Bleeding Nose put together. Even that tart in the heels has got more than you."

This last was accompanied by a salacious grin in Erin's direction. Erin had been subjected to worse and said nothing although she did continue to finger her gun affectionately as her eyes sparked with real anger. Crude comments were a fact of feminine life in any macho based work environment and she'd never have survived in her career if she hadn't learnt to cope with them. Recently though she hadn't had to, Harry might demand the same commitment from his female staff as he did from their male counterparts but he was old fashioned enough to insist that they were treated with courtesy. At first Erin had wondered if this was a less obvious form of masculine patronage but had quickly realised that it was simply that Harry, while accepting women as work equals, still adhered to the dying code of behaviour he considered becoming to an officer and a gentleman.

As if to prove the truth of this Harry directed a look of searing fury at his son. He was plainly furious that anyone claiming his kinship could behave in such a crass fashion.

"That's quite enough, if I ever again hear you insulting your mother, Erin or any other women in such appalling terms I will personally, without giving you the benefit of anaesthetic, ensure that you sing soprano for the rest of your life. For once extract your head from your rear orifice and get it around the fact that the state of your ego is not central to the universe."

Not waiting to see how Graham reacted Harry continued his instructions. "When we get back and the medics are happy ask Calum to talk to Graham. See they can create a picture of the man who was here. Dimitri, get on to the forensic team, find out what they've got in fingerprints, DNA, anything and get copies sent to the Grid. Graham, remember what I've said, behave yourself and think about your sister."

"Stop taking to me as if I'm two year old."

"Well stop acting like one. Ready for action everyone."

With that Erin and Dimitri began to hustle Graham out of the door with movements that suggested they were treating him less like a piece of precious china to be treated with care and rather more like the contents of a disgusting bin bag to be thrown carelessly into a skip. Harry suspected that the absence of a gentle handling was owing to mild revenge being taken for the earlier assault on Dimitri. Providing Graham remained in one piece and was not overly bruised, he wasn't, after all the gratuitous insults he and his team had endured, inclined to intervene.

Having seen the trio from the premises and advised the remaining police constable that his own departure was imminent he returned to the sitting room to quizz Robin. Judging by Robin's face he'd been expecting these questions.

"Robin what exactly happened outside?"

Robin, choosing his words carefully explained. "I hung around the bus shelter, smoking some imitation cannabis. After about ten minutes chummy's phone rang. I reckoned that he might need to move so I positioned myself.. As he passed me I swayed into him and got the tracker attached. A car picked him up a few minutes later. It wasn't the most subtle of efforts if they wanted to avoid us suspecting him."

"Sounds as if they've twigged that Garside is missing. Good man Robin. With luck we might track them to somewhere that gives us a lead out of the current fog."

Turning Harry picked up the pile of books and DVD's which he'd selected earlier and handed them to his companion. Fishing out the car keys out of his pocket he instructed, "Take these to the car I'll be along in a minute."

Left alone he stared around the flat for anything he may have forgotten. Suddenly he remembered the photo album lying on the sofa. He'd dropped it there when Graham had made his entrance. He'd promised Jane that he'd take it with him so he collected it from the cushions, still open at the picture that had so upset Jane. Having made a final survey for anything precious he lifted the print of Catherine receiving her award from the wall. He knew that the building would be secured and watched until further notice but even so he felt it was wrong to leave so much that spoke of his daughter's life to the glare of strangers. He could almost her voice, '_Dad whatever Mum and Graham may think I want to remain on good terms."_ a haunting and happier memory than when he relived Ruth's final request standing in the cottage she'd planned to buy. At least this time some hope of survival remained. Knowing he had to join Robin he forced himself to stifle the threatening tears. Harry Pearce kept on going regardless. '_Can't' on, must_ _go on.'_ Now an engrained mantra that had saved him from the CIA when he and Ilya had formed their unlikely partnership to thwart Levrov; with, he had to concede some help from Towers.

Towers! The Home Secretary would be champing at the bit. He had to get moving. Back to the persona of Sir Harry Pearce defender of the realm as evidenced by suit, tie and highly polished shoes. Why had Towers brought the meeting forward anyway? If it was owing to some brillant wheeze dreamt up by a yuppie spin doctor who'd only just emerged from the toils of university, complete with bum fluff chin and American toothpaste smile, Harry would be tempted to copy his son and tell these annoying acolytes exactly where they could stuff their bright ideas. As these youths had an irritating habit of describing any new idea as sexy his suggestions although painful, would not, he reflected, be entirely inappropriate. Oh God, they said sons turned into their fathers, was he reversing the procedure and turning into his son! Yet another instance of his getting family relationships hopelessly wrong!

With one hand on his gun and his other arm firmly clamping Catherine's portrait to his body Harry began to move. His departing wish was that the next time he entered this flat he'd be able to hug his daughter in the flesh. Hold her in his arms, not under them. Closing the back door carefully as he left Harry set off on the next part of his mission to discover her fate.

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**Thanks for reading. If you have a moment please review**.


	14. Chapter 14

**Apologies to those missing Jane but I thought it was time Harry went to his meeting with Towers.**

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_Home Office . 3.30pm_

It wasn't Harry's normal policy to apologise to politicians. As far as he was concerned massaging their already overinflated egos was not part of his job description. Neither did he consider it good practice to encourage the pompous windbags in the mistaken belief that they knew what they were talking about or that their opinions actually mattered anyway. On this occasion however Harry deemed it wise to feign some sorrow, he had after all delayed an urgently requested meeting and he was well aware that without Towers' stanch support he'd have been unceremoniously kicked into retirement.

His attempt to express a wholly false contrition was interrupted by Towers stating, "No need Harry, Miss Watts explained that you were held up by an enquiry into the provenance of last night's bomb."

Making a mental note to thank Erin for smoothing down the Home Secretary Harry sank wearily into his usual seat. As he settled himself Towers thrust a tumbler of whisky in his direction.

"Some nectar of the grain Harry. You look as if you could use something stronger than Earl Grey."

This, Towers thought, as he scrutinised Harry's appearance was an understatement. The last time he'd seen Harry look so exhausted and drawn was when he'd visited him at his home a few days before Ruth's funeral. Towers' ostensible excuse had been that he wanted to personally confirm the cancellation of Harry's extradition order and the lifting of the accompanying house arrest imposed while the events surrounding the death of Jim Coaver had been reinvestigated. His real purpose had been to offer unspoken condolences and support to a man who, despite their several differences, he respected. Towers had been warned when taking office that Harry was a maverick; a loose cannon who, most damningly of all, failed to give his superiors the reverence appropriate to their positions. While the experience of working with Harry had confirmed the truth of each and every one of those assertions Towers was also of the opinion that the Service was unlikely to ever again possess such a dedicated servant and for that alone Harry should be honoured.

Harry fingered the glass with gratitude, the peaty aroma penetrating his nostrils reminding him that possibly that his most worthwhile contribution to the ship of state had been to encourage the Home Office management to invest in a passable malt. He remembered the first time he'd unwisely accepted a dram in this very office. As a paint stripper he might have respected it, to have heard it described as whisky had counted in his book as blasphemy. Over the years he'd gradually educated the various incumbents of Tower's chair, mainly by ensuring that they had been offered a decent swallow whenever they visited the Grid, much as he'd begrudged it on occasions. Would he have found the murdering of Blake less painful had he not been forced to doctor a bottle of expensive Ardberg in the process? _Ros, bomb, Blake, Nightingale, Ruth_, _Coaver_, _Elena,_ _deception_, _death, murder, betrayal, guilt. _ His past was littered like a Scrabble board of doom with one fateful word leading onto the tragic next. He was recalled into reality by Towers' voice setting out his agenda. Harry gave himself a gentle shake; he really must stop allowing his thoughts to drift into the ever present past.

"A few minor points first Harry, and I'm sure you'll have replies to them." After several months of dealing with the man on the opposite side of the desk Towers was damn sure of that. "Debra Langham has been complaining that you've not replaced Ruth Evershed. Particularly since Calum Reed was promoted to a more Senior Grade at the last review." Towers felt it behoved him to tread warily as he asked with trepidation, "I don't need to spell it out do I?"

Towers didn't, Harry knew exactly what was being whispered by the Human Resources Department and he deeply resented being forced to justify himself. It was therefore with more than a touch of irascibility that he stated, "Calum's promotion reflected his increased work load as a result of the Olympics and that is independent of the tasks I would expect my Senior Analyst to undertake. I have no problem with the idea of replacing Ruth, her transfer to your department meant that I would have had to make a new appointment anyway and I freely admit that I have no suitable internal candidate for the post."

Towers could only guess at the effort that it cost Harry to say this. The gap between replacing a living breathing Ruth and a dead one was considerable in emotional terms, even if Harry chose to perpetuate the myth that he didn't do personal. Towers was struggling to find a suitable reply that bypassed the anodyne when Harry in a brisk businesslike tone continued,

"I know what is being said: that I can't bear to replace Ruth. But I would never jeopardise the safety of my section or the country for that reason and I find the implication offensive. Perhaps Miss Langham should be reminded that I've tried to appoint three times? On each occasion I have agreed to trial, on probation, an individual she recommended as an ideal candidate."

Towers began to wonder if he could emulate Salome and demand the head of the HR supremo on a platter. On second thoughts not even for the sake of placating Harry was he going to attempt the dance of the seven veils.

Harry's contempt for the Head of Human Resources' judgement continued to snap through every syllable. "The first woman lasted three days before she started having nightmares about the videos and pictures she had to trawl through. Either she or Ms Langham seemed to be under the impression that MI5 is an adult version of Jackanory."

Harry took a sip of his Scotch, mmm whoever bought this one was a connoisseur. As the whisky slowly warmed his taste buds so Harry increasingly warmed to his theme of Debra Langham's total incompetence.

"The next woman I was assured was an expert. I delegated the task of assessing her to Erin Watts which was fortunate since as a mere male I was not biologically equipped to assess her particular area of knowledge. According to Erin the only extensive Intel she produced was on the specialist subject of her PMT, relationship problems and social life." Harry took a deep breath before continuing his diatribe, "She also failed to appreciate that MI5 is not nine to five. Terrorists, drug barons and the general scum we deal with do not keep office hours and we can't wait for our analyst to sober up because she's been drowning her sorrows."

Towers looked somewhat pointedly at Harry's generous and now nearly consumed measure of Scotch before inclining his head sympathically. He'd raised the subject with Harry as a formality. He'd already known most of this from Erin who'd agreed with every word Harry had just uttered. Indeed she'd been even more scathing on the subject of the PMT woman. _"Section D espouses the principle of equality. The women in this department would not tolerate men talking to all and sundry about their erectile dysfunction problems or their difficulties in getting laid. As Section Head I therefore see no reason why the male staff should be required to listen to women discussing their problems, biological or social.' _Towers lips quirked slightly in recollection, Erin had been parachuted into Section D without Harry's consent. When Harry had been reinstated after Albany he'd wondered how they would deal together; the young fast tracked female and the old school boss**.** He shouldn't have worried**, **despite the disparity in age and gender they were clearly birds of a feather: a pair of swooping raptors defending the State. His fleeting smile vanished rapidly with Harry's next words.

"As for the most recent candidate. I assume that you've not forgotten your visit to the Palace to apologise."

Towers closed his eyes briefly. That incident still gave him nightmares. As the government front man it could have destroyed his career. Every time he recalled the event he felt vindicated in the efforts he'd taken to rescue Harry from clutches of the CIA. He doubted whether anyone else could have engineered such a skilful cover up.

A few weeks previously the probationary analyst had picked up some dubious chatter. Harry, Dimitri and Erin had all been absent from the Grid at the time. Harry trapped in an interminable high level security meeting concerning the Olympics while Erin and Dimitri were out and about chasing assets. The newest staff member having taken exception to Calum's jokey personality had decided that he was not worthy of consultation. As a result she'd overridden all the Grid procedures and activated the protocol to evacuate Buckingham Palace on the grounds that it was subject to an immediate terrorist attack. Luckily Calum, having overheard the telephone call to CO19, had demanded her data. His speedy trawl of the Internet had traced the origin of the messages back to a trio of disgruntled Manchester United fans facebooking threats to raid _Beckingham Palace_. Calum had managed to trigger an emergency code that had pulled Harry out of his meeting and by means known only to God and Sir Harry, - on occasions Towers wondered if the two weren't interchangeable - the blame for the whole affair had been allocated elsewhere. To be exact the responsibility had been shuffled, quite literally, onto crossed wires caused by the faulty workmanship of whichever dodgy outfit had most recently incurred the Pearce wrath. The appointment of this guilty concern had then been conveniently traced to bribes solicited by a disgraced member of the previous administration under investigation for fraud. That the MP concerned had been unwise enough to call for greater government control over the Security Services was, of course, purely coincidental. Harry, while protecting Towers, had forthrightly declined to send CO19 to protect the realm's sporting icon. "I think Mr Golden Balls has made enough advertising underwear to fund his other undercover needs**." **Concerned with limiting the damage to his own position Towers had never enquired about the ultimate fate of the transgressor. Rumour had it that the atomised remains had been scraped from the floor of Harry's office and removed on a stretcher to Tring where they currently making a slow recovery courtesy of tea, tranquillisers and therapeutic macramé**.**

Harry seeing Towers nod relented slightly. "I'm assuming that somewhere a suitable candidate exists." Time for another swipe at Debra Langham, "I've asked to see the CVs of the next round of candidates. I want to pre vet them myself. In the meantime to help with the extra workload I've arranged for one of our ex staff to return on a short contract for a few months."

"Who?"

"Malcolm Wynne Jones. He retired two years ago after a long career with Section D. His mother died recently and he's willing to work at normal staff rates, not over the top consultant fees." Towers winced inwardly, recent press coverage on the cost of the Home Office's special advisers had been less than flattering. "You've met him." Harry paused as he added, "He did a reading at Ruth's funeral."

Towers considered the advantages of this proposal. Erin had admitted to worries about being unable to reach Harry emotionally, maybe this Malcolm could do so. He was the same generation as Harry, his presence on the Grid might be beneficial. Towers foraging in his memory remembered him as a quiet courteous man, clearly shaken by Ruth's death, who, while making no effort to converse at length, had just sat very patiently with a silently grieving Harry displaying the concern of simple friendship.

"Very well Harry. To move on, I've also had some falsetto voiced hermaphrodite complaining that _'Darling Dimitri is thwarting my efforts to revitalise the glorious Bard_.' I'm sure Dimitri has sound reasons for his stance but at present he's holding up the final planning with only a couple of days or so to go. Also in view of the event profile the DG has also requested your attendance at the evening."

Harry ignored that last sentence as he snorted, "Dimitri's alma mater was the SBS not the RSC, so unsurprisingly he has difficulty with theatrical types referring to him as darling, particularly when they're allegedly male. He's taking a temporary trouble shooter with him tomorrow and I've every confidence that the matter will be resolved." _'Anyone calling Jane darling had better check first that a spear isn't within her grabbing range or it'll be more that the bard who'll need revitalising.'_

Towers began to wonder if he'd ever catch Harry at a disadvantage as he enquired curiously "Who've you magiced up this time?"

"My ex-wife."

Towers cast his eyes ceilingward as he searched for the bolt of lightning. While Harry's private life lived up to that billing, his relationship with Ruth blown apart only after the Albany affair, even Towers was aware that Harry's usual contact with his family would strain the skills of a UN peacekeeping force. His Head of Counter Terrorism's next words almost sent Towers jaw thudding to his desk.

"She's staying with me at present. Last night's bomb..." Harry's extended explanation was interrupted by a confused Towers saying, "Yes I remember Miss Watts mentioning that as the reason for your putting back this meeting. I don't quite see..."

Ah, so Erin had only given Towers a vague outline of the previous evening's events, time to enlighten him further then.

"The property bombed was my daughter's flat. Jane was nearly killed. I've persuaded her to stay with me until we find out where our daughter is. Jane is an excellent English teacher and was visiting London to attend the Reception in a professional capacity. She won't be doing so now that our daughter is missing. Which is why I'll also be unable to attend, I can't leave Jane sitting on her own worrying while I party."

Harry wasn't quite sure he believed what he'd just said. Even as he made this statement he had a vision of Jane's probable glare of astonishment at his late flowering change of priorities. Sitting on her own and worrying had been her default activity throughout their marriage. How and why had the tectonic plates that formed the foundation of his world shifted so drastically within twenty four hours?

Towers needed to check that he'd understood the implication of Harry's words, "Er, you mean?"

"Catherine's missing and we don't know why. It may be to do with the CIA's recent threats to kidnap me but as our daughter, who works under her mother's maiden name of Townsend, is a maker of controversial documentaries it could also be to do with her work. She's made a few enemies."

Obviously a family trait Towers decided, but the name stirred a recollection. For the second time in ten minutes he was forcibly reliving an embarrassing experience "Yes, now I remember why I'd heard her name before."

So, looking at Towers wry face, did Harry. The film for which Catherine had received her award had been a powerful piece on the issue of teenage girls and forced marriage. Its conclusion had been unreservedly critical of government policy which, although couched in rather more elegant phraseology, had been summed up on the soundtrack as '_don't rock the boat and stuff the welfare of a few women in England while we pander to the extremists.' _ For once Harry had agreed wholeheartedly with his daughter's point of view, while wishing that occasionally she'd recognise that most of the world presented in the monochrome tint of dirty grey rather than her preferred shades of black and white. However the fact remained that her outspoken effort had been responsible for Towers facing some tough questioning in the House.

Suddenly Towers smiled enjoying Harry's slightly startled look. Bingo, he'd confounded Harry. "It gave me a bad time but my opposite number had even more problems. If he condemned the film he had the feminists on their back, if he approved of it their multi cultural agenda was in trouble. I enjoyed seeing him squirm in a no win situation."

Sadly Towers couldn't enjoy his triumph for long. The main matter of the meeting was approaching, the need to tick Harry off, not a prospect Towers was relishing. Nerving himself to the effort he just about managed to avoid asking Harry if he was sitting comfortably before he began.

"Now Harry the main issue I needed to discuss was the report on inter agency cooperation which I understand has been stuck on your desk for several weeks. The Americans are getting twitchy and the DG would like to wrap it up and get the agreement signed."

Harry had been expecting to be called to account for this any time during the past fortnight, thank goodness he'd been checking the fine print before last night's phone call had disrupted his life. He knew what he had to say was important, even vital for the future of the Security Staff but at this precise moment he was seriously annoyed at being dragged away from the more immediate effort of discovering what had become of his daughter. It was therefore with some asperity that he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. "Has the DG seen paragraph 6, 7 and 9 in the last appendix that the Cousins sent over to be included in the report? I've had calls from my opposite numbers in European countries expressing concern." Towers looked puzzled as Harry continued.

"I'm not a lawyer but if I read it correctly what in précis these addendums are including is a binding commitment that if the Cousins have even the vaguest suspicion of anyone they will get a no questions asked extradition. Further to that once an extradited person has passed into American hands they will become an honorary American citizen for the time they are in the country, but minus any accompanying rights. Since they will not be considered a foreign national their country of origin will therefore be deprived of any right to question their treatment, charges etc."

Towers considered the possibility that April's Fool Day had arrived early. Then he remembered it was now well past noon in a late autumn day and concluded that Harry was in deadly earnest. An aghast Towers gulped, "Harry you aren't making this up?"

"You can read it yourself. It's dressed up in convoluted sentences and obviously sneaked in. But that is not the only issue."

Towers stared gravely; did Harry really mean that this got worse?

"Once signed this will be retrospective back to 9/11. Anyone whom the Americans suspect of acting against their national interest, which is conveniently defined as the interest of the free world, can be lifted. Furthermore it will be incumbent on the UK to act as a bridge and request the extradition from other countries that may refuse a direct request from the CIA and then hand them over to the Cousins immediately without question. That's what my opposite numbers are concerned about. Needless to say the arrangements aren't reciprocal, Uncle Sam feels obliged to protect his own citizens from possible reprisal attacks which the Americans argue are more likely to occur in Europe due to the open borders policy."

Yes, Towers thought, it did get worse. Considering the immediate implications he focussed on the first part of Harry's speech. "But Harry that would mean the CIA would want you again. They're nearly as fond of you as I am. They've made it clear that they never thought Elena committed suicide."

Actually Towers hadn't bought into that one either but he had long since decided that, like the identity of the euphuistically described private contractor employed in the removal of Levrov, there were some questions he didn't want to ask. Accessory after the fact would be an inglorious end to his career. Harry's face bore all the flexibility of a mummer's mask. What, Towers wondered, was going on behind it?

"I know. But even they drew short of accusing Ilya of lying when he'd just lost his wife."

Harry's thoughts were flying backwards, running though the events of that day in the few seconds before he continued his dialogue with Towers.

The horrendous sight of a bloodsoaked Ruth lying dead, of his kissing of her as he sobbed aloud, encased in a bubble of grief, only vaguely aware of the events around him. Of this trancelike hypnotic state suddenly punctured by the sight of Ilya rushing towards them. Of Sasha lying wounded and screaming with pain. Of himself jerked back into an awareness of his surroundings seeing his own guilt and sorrow eerily mirrored on Ilya's very different features. The expression on Ilya's face as he turned towards Harry. The sudden stillness as two old adversaries suddenly looked at each other appraisingly. The weird sense of a switch being flicked in their mutual brains as these two men, both servants of their state, bereaved and crying had one thought; not of the women they'd loved lying dead, not even of Sasha injured and mentally destroyed. Their joint perception dawning that if they took no action Levrov and the CIA would have succeeded in destroying the partnership; the very partnership that had revealed so many past deceptions and ultimately led to their separate but mingled personal tragedies. Of them staring at each other and realising that the agreement that had to be retained whatever the personal cost; its survival the only possible justification for that cost.

Harry pushed down the memories of their subsequent actions. He still felt sick whenever he thought about them – did Ilya suffer in the same way? The ultimate proof that that they were abnormal; emotionally damaged. For Harry his later commissioning of Tom Quinn to avenge Ruth had become a simple going through the motions. He'd never forgive himself for how he'd behaved at that, the most tragic crisis in his life. Towers, he noticed, was waiting for him to continue. As was now his habit he suppressed his feelings as he forced himself back into work mode.

"The other concern is that with no legal restraints the Americans can do what they like. A fair amount of Intel suggests it won't be pleasant. I can state that this worry is justified given my personal experience of being beaten up, starved and being referred to as a package before I even left the country. We've all heard the stories of rendition to other jurisdictions, the rumours of mistreatment. Sign this treaty and the Americans will basically be able to demand whatever they want with no checks."

Towers had no difficulty in believing him. Deception might be Harry's stock in trade but he would never be fool enough to lie about something that could be so easily disproved. Assertion by a semi disgraced MI5 officer, however senior, might not, be on its own be enough to block the plan. He had to enquire, "Any proof of torture?"

Harry's replied dryly "That of course is the problem – dirty and secret deeds remain just that. I should know. "

Harry took a final sip of his whisky thinking back to the dark and dirty deeds by the Thames estuary and the CIA's efforts to drag him away, thwarted only by the timely arrival of CO19 with an instruction from Towers that the extradition was suspended pending investigation of the new circumstances.

Towers rubbed his eyes wearily, he didn't like the sound of what Harry had just told him one bit. Apart from any other consideration he'd be the one forced to stand up and justify the wholesale deportation of British citizens abroad. The current European Arrest Warrant and extradition treaty with America were giving him enough trouble. Further changes of the nature Harry was outlining he didn't need. He could visualise the tabloid headlines now. _'Towers_ _of London crumbles'_, while the broadsheets would, with scalpel like precision, mercilessly dissect the entire policy in conjunction with every unfortunate word he had ever uttered. If it was up to him he'd scuttle the whole idea now, unfortunately it wasn't his decision.

"The problem is that the Foreign Office is keen on the idea. It's to soothe the Cousins after the partnership.

Harry considered this to be typical, sign a dubious deal with a regime now reverting to Cold War tactics and then try to undo the harm caused by signing another even more damaging document. The appalled looking Towers however was not the subject of his wrath so he confined his comments to, "Is the FO keen on keeping the partnership because informally I've been advised that the Kremlin is threatening to withdraw if this new agreement is signed"

Towers could easily guess the source of that Intel. "Well, well, you and Ilya Gavrik seem to be getting chummy these days but he is, I assume, a sound source"

Harry nodded, he and Ilya would never be friends but in a peculiar, warped way they'd bonded. "Ilya lost too much personally to want to see the partnership fall. I was agnostic about the it but as we now know the Americans were planning to discredit the plan. Circumstances prevented them from doing so - this is their way of succeeding."

Towers considered for a moment. Harry waited, Towers hadn't been elevated into one of the big three offices of state without acquiring a fair amount of deviousness along the way, even if he was supposedly bound by collective responsibility. Finally Towers concluded "No point if mentioning the dubious interrogation methods of the Americans without proof, they'll simply deny it. I'll tell the DG and FO that you've asked the lawyers to check your suspicions about the appendices in view of the problems it could create for co-operation with our European allies. That should buy you time to find some proof of torture." '_Or fake it, I know just how underhand you can be Harry._'

Harry nodded again. It was the best he could hope for and he'd make sure that he sent the relevant documents to the barrister least likely to hurry, the one he had in mind was tied up in a long running case of fraud currently being tried in the Midlands. As he stood up to leave Towers said with a true sincerity "I hope you find your daughter Harry. Keep me informed."

His unspoken worry was that even Harry could crack eventually. The DG had only agreed to Harry's return with the proviso that he underwent a stringent psychological assessment. The sure and certain hope had been that Harry would finally be exposed as a total fruitcake. Brutally his various detractors had decided that the nails in Ruth Evershed's coffin would also mark Harry's final passing from MI5. Instead, much to Towers private glee, Harry had been cleared for duty with the comment that '_the subject did not give standard answers but taken in conjunction with his earlier history as a lateral thinker and in line with previous assessments I see no cause for concern in terms of his ability to undertake the tasks required. I would however counsel that he makes time to undertake some absorbing hobby as a means of relaxation._' While pleased with this outcome Towers still harboured some doubts. As the man who had once chided Harry for not picking up a golf club he thought the recommendation that Harry acquire a hobby was on a par with advising a nun to take up lap dancing, inappropriate to the warp and weft of his lifestyle. Also, Towers reflected, Harry was no stranger to the screening procedures. Having had the service inflict similar tests upon him for years he had almost certainly have gleaned enough knowledge to second guess every trick in the shrinks' manual. Towers wasn't about to voice his misgivings. He preferred to believe that operational Harry was functioning as well as ever he had, an opinion regularly confirmed by Erin Watts.

Harry left Towers' office and strode to his car. He'd wasted enough time on politics for one day. Checking his phone he discovered a missed call from Erin. Please some good news? Tapping into the voicemail his heart sank at Erin's tone alone.

"Harry. Jane rang. Her house was being staked out. Laura thinks it's by the CIA"

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**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Many thanks to those who reviewed. Kudos has copyright but Laura and aspects of Jane are mine - so you know who to blame._**

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_Out of London_

On leaving Catherine's flat and tripping, almost literally given the state of her ankle, in Erin's stylish wake Jane had been forced to admit to herself that despite her earlier protests to Harry the prospect of retrieving her own clothes was attractive. Jane was realistic enough to know that at her age she couldn't emulate Erin as the Queen of the Grid but she drew the line at risking nomination for the Granny of Grunge award. Strictly speaking of course the noun wasn't applicable and with one child missing and the other estranged whether she'd ever again be addressed as Mum, let alone Gran was becoming increasingly problematical. It was an agonising thought that left her feeling bereft and hollow. Was this what she'd condemned Harry to endure for years with his virtual exclusion from their children's lives? Although that situation had largely been engineered by Robin, taking advantage of the frequently cancelled custody weekends to emphasise to both of her offspring his own superiority in contrast to that of their absent father, he couldn't have done so without her active connivance. It had suited her support this line and now ironically, after years of joining Robin in open disparagement of her ex-husband, she was forced to rely upon all the qualities she'd most hated in Harry, his deviousness, the dark arts practiced in his secret world plus his imperviousness to danger, in their joint efforts to resurrect the tattered remnants of their family unit.

Her introduction to Laura wasn't calculated to cheer her depressed spirits either. The girl looked as if she'd just emerged from university and, judging by her body language, was scared of her own shadow. With her ungroomed lank hair and face, pasty and pale lipped as nature intended, her entire demeanour did not inspire confidence. Introduced by Erin, whose icy clipped speech made it obvious that Laura wasn't on her Christmas card list, Jane had nodded briefly and slipped into the passenger seat with some relief. Once she'd strapped herself in Laura had wasted no time in setting off. The speed at which she tackled the crowded London roads making Jane worry about the state of Erin's underwear. After Laura had thrown the car around a corner for the fifth time, slammed on the brakes twice and then followed that up by swerving dangerously in front of oncoming traffic, Jane, once she'd opened her eyes and ungritted her teeth finally asked: "Er Laura any chance we could go back? I've left something behind."

Her driver looked a trifle peeved as she enquired: "Sorry, I thought you were ready, what have you...?" Laura halted. Jane, guessing that she wasn't sure whether she should ask a potentially personal question finished the sentence for her.

"My stomach. I think I mislaid it about four streets ago."

The instant chastened look on her companion's face made Jane feel uncomfortable. To make amends Jane added consolingly, "Sorry but I'm not used to the speed you spooks work at. I've already had to chide Harry for the same thing."

It would be unfair to say that Laura relaxed but she did slow down slightly as she said in an apologetic tone, "Sorry. My fault Mrs Townsend... it's just Ms Watts told me to hurry and..." The pause implied that she was on the verge of saying something indiscreet but had bitten her tongue in preference. Obviously Laura was worried, indeed the expression on her face approximated to terrified. Considering the speed at which they were still travelling this didn't exactly reassure Jane. Harry must have had his reasons for hand picking Laura as her tour guide but at present they weren't apparent. A further glance revealed that Laura's eyes were at least fixed on the road and she was handling the steering wheel with dexterity. Feeling slightly heartened Jane began to wonder how come Laura had washed up onto the shores of Section D. Did she possess the necessary killer instinct in tandem with her nervous disposition? Jane knew that if they ran into difficulties her life was held in those quivering hands. Laura wasn't the only one feeling apprehensive.

In an ostensibly conversational voice Jane enquired, "Have you worked in Section D for long?"

From Laura's jumpy reaction anyone would have thought that Jane was trawling for state secrets. Then again Jane supposed anything relating to Section D probably was filed under that heading. The silence lingered for a few more seconds before a whispered reply found its way to Jane's ears.

"Sorry...I'm not sure if ..." The words trailed off once more.

"Laura. I have signed the Act and believe me if I'd ever wanted to cause trouble by gossiping I've learnt enough in the last few hours to – ahhh watch it."

This last was the result of Laura taking her eyes off the road to check that Jane was serious, at the precise moment that a tour bus under the stewardship of a driver even madder than Laura decided it owned the road. In an unexpectedly vivacious gesture Laura occupied a couple of seconds waving two fingers at the other culprit in a signal definitely not illustrated in the Highway Code, before slowly responding to Jane's statement.

"Sorry." After a pause she added, "I'm still on probation, it ends next week but I don't think I'll be staying. Sir Harry ...well...he doesn't like me". These last few words were rushed out, followed by Laura sucking her lips as if wishing she could recall them. Jane nearly punched the air; victory, Laura had actually completed a sentence.

"Don't let that spook you. Awful pun I know. He isn't very keen on most people."

"Maybe. But..." Laura halted again. Jane could understand why Harry may find her exasperating, silence might be golden but on occasions a mild degree of loquacity was helpful. Jane could just picture Harry's face as Laura gave a verbal report consisting of halting sentences.

'_Well Sir...I followed the suspect...and...well ...sorry but I'm not sure...'_ Provoking Harry's parade ground roar of, '_Miss Dixon_ _by the time you complete this report World War Three will have finished._'

Not wishing to give unasked for advice on how to handle Harry, '_Let's face it, ultimately I wasn't very successful at coping with him either,_' Jane settled for remarking, "Well next week isn't too long to wait. In the meantime Laura if we pass a service station could we stop off? I've not eaten since breakfast."

Her shamefaced companion answered, "Sorry Mrs Townsend..." waiting for her to continue Jane idly began to wonder if this girl would ever stop apologising for her existence. As Laura ploughed on it was apparent that Jane had done her an injustice. "I thought you might be hungry. I brought some sandwiches with me. You'll find them in the glove compartment."

It was Jane's turn to feel abashed as she opened the said compartment to reveal two packets of sandwiches, an apple and a banana. As she did so Laura added "Sorry if it's a bit too much but I wasn't sure what you liked and they did emphasise in training that we must try to eat whenever possible."

_Basic Training Manual: Author Harry Pearce: Para 12: Eat when you get the chance; Para 12a Check first that food and drink offered isn't poisoned. _

Jane smiled, "Thanks. There will now be short interlude while I feed my face. I'll make sure that Harry knows you thought about this."

Laura looked alarmed at that prospect as she said, "Sorry but would you mind not ... I don't want him to think that ..."

Yet another unfinished sentence as Jane realised that she'd inadvertently put the girl in an awkward position. The least she could do was reassure her.

"Because he'll think you're crawling. Only a fool would try to get around Harry by making friendly with me. I'm not exactly his favourite person either."

"Sorry to sound ungrateful. He thinks I'm a fool anyway. This is the first assignment I've been allowed to do on my own."

The matter of fact way in which Laura said this removed any hint of self pity from her statement. Jane was at a distinct disadvantage, she'd like to soothe Laura's worries away but she had no idea of the basis on which Harry made his staffing decisions. Part of Laura's assumptions didn't ring true to Jane. She knew that Harry didn't suffer fools gladly; admittedly in his eyes a category that embraced most of the human race. Even on a personal level glamorous eye stopping airheads endowed with loose morals and even looser knickers stood no chance with a man who demanded degree level intelligence from even a casual companion. Laura presumably possessed the odd brain cell but if Erin resembled an oil painting, Laura presented as the Grid equivalent of a very pale washed out watercolour. Appraising the girl more thoroughly Jane decided that while aided by a decent hairdresser and some makeup she'd scrub up quite nicely for dressy events the best she could ever lay claim too would be a nondescript prettiness owing more to her youth than her features. Taken in conjunction with her humble mien she'd easily be missed in a crowd. Perhaps that was the reason for her continued employment in Section D. Harry had once mentioned that anonymity was the spy's best friend. All of which, now she considered the issue further, made Jane wonder how on earth the sickeningly good looking Erin and Dimitri had managed to survive undetected, surely their undercover work extended beyond that of being honeytraps.

This was getting awkward, especially since she felt an increasing sympathy for the girl. Jane herself had never quite lacked confidence but she remembered very well her first brush with difficult, bored pupils and her sleepless nights stressing about her ability to do the job. Ironically at its very worst Harry, who had been home working on London based operations, had jollied her along with some sage advice. '_Jane I understand that you want to be liked, we all do. But in some situations you must discriminate between the ringleader and the followers. Do whatever you have to do to discipline the former. And make sure that if anyone leaves the classroom crying it isn't you.'_ That had of course been in the pre PC era before pupils had been made of their rights, although not alas their responsibilities. Not wanting to say anything rash Jane decided that Laura had provided her with a canteen made excuse not to converse further as she broke open the sandwiches so thoughtfully provided.

Reluctant as she had been to leave their son to Harry's not so tender mercies Jane was thankful for some time to mull over the strange situation she found herself in. The last few hours had been confusing to say the least. How exactly did she feel about having Harry plunged back into her life, or was it the reverse and she'd been plunged back into his? For years she'd retained the image of him as uncaring, emotionally heedless and cursed him for it. Was this the man who during the course of the last few hours had shown such concern for her welfare, sympathy for her professional difficulties and refrained from crowing loudly over her difficulties with Graham? Had Harry the unreliable suddenly transformed himself into Harry the staunch or was her perception governed by the increasingly untenable situation she now found herself in with Robin? The journey back to her home offered her an opportunity to ponder this, or would have done had she not dozed off, lulled combination of car engine purring, warmth, exhaustion and the almost monastic silence of Laura.

Jane wasn't sure how long she'd slept for when she was jerked awake by Laura's sudden braking. At once Laura began to apologise but before she'd got beyond, '"Sorry Mrs Townsend but..., " Jane interrupted with, "First of all my name's Jane, secondly you're owed the apology as I'm the one who so rudely feel asleep." Looking at the familiar lanes they were now driving through Jane added, "Laura we're nearly at my home. Would you park at the far end of the village green rather than my drive? I don't mind carrying my luggage a short distance."

Laura heaved an inward sigh of relief that in her keenness to impress on her first solo mission she'd checked the general layout of the village before heading to Catherine Townsend's flat.

_Basic Training Manual; Author Harry Pearce: Para 1: Gather as much Intel as you can before setting off_.

As far as she could tell from those great benefactors to the nosey, Google Earth and Street View, Jane resided in a typical commuter village. The centre retained the traditional picture postcard arrangement of ancient church, pub now sprouting Egon Ronay ambitions and stone cottages squarely arranged around a green containing a pair of ancient stocks. Grafted onto this, like Japanese knotweed spreading ever outwards, were several small estates composed mainly of executive homes marketed to socially aspiring townies with pretensions to the squirearchy. The detached house owned by the Tindalls was located on the edge of a small group of ten dwellings arranged in a semi circle close to the village centre.

Knowing that Jane's home was nearby a puzzled Laura replied, "No problem but ..." she halted again. Whatever strengths Laura had revealed in training Jane concluded that interrogation skills were not amongst them and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Harry had so far failed to tick that box. Personally Jane wasn't looking forward to his unleashing the full gamut of that particular talent when demanding an explanation pertaining to Graham's references vis a vis his stepfather. For now, in answer to Laura's hanging question, Jane resolved to give a half truth, something she was rapidly becoming expert at.

"It's my next door neighbour. She keeps an eye on the house when it's unoccupied but she always wants a good chat about what I've been doing when I return. She's a lovely lady, she and her husband moved here to retire but she's recently widowed with no family and lonely. Normally I'm happy to talk but today I want to get back to Har... London as quickly as possible." _'Keen to get back to Harry!_ _I need a shrink._ '

Thankfully Laura nodded her understanding. "Yes my Mum has someone like that across the road. She says it's a bit like having a benign stalker." Presented with a mission Laura suddenly seemed to grow in stature as she straightened up in her seat and crisply enquired, "What's the plan then?"

Watching the previously apologetic Laura abruptly snap into what Jane was beginning to identify as spook mode was fascinating. Jane recognised at once the chameleon qualities she'd seen in Harry over the course of their marriage, the sudden suspension of normal thoughts and emotions in pursuit of...well she'd never quite worked that one out, ...the greater good displayed by duping others!...as she'd remarked to Erin earlier she never had understood that mindset. Laura's transformation made her realise Harry's excuses when confessing to his affair with Juliet might well have contained a kernel of truth. Not that she was absolving him retrospectively, after that betrayal she'd never trusted him out of her sight, or in it, especially if he happened to be talking to an attractive woman.

"_Jane, it isn't that I don't love and value you, but you simply don't understand my working world. Juliet is part of that. There's a reason why the Service encourages us not to date outsiders. You are the only important woman in my life and I admit I was a fool." _

"_For God's sake Harry don't pull the 'my wife doesn't understand me' routine because I understand you all too well. You never even thought about me when your bloody boss offered you intimate access to her personal assets. And it was your choice to marry an outsider, not mine you patronising shit."_

A slight cough from Laura consigned these recollections back to the past, where for now Jane thought they should safely remain. The plan ...right, okay!

"Laura when we arrive I'll tell you where to park on the green. The house is in an enclosed new estate built slightly up the hill. We can use the side access, get my clothes and leave without anyone seeing." Looking ahead Jane recognised the outskirts of the village, waving her hand she indicated the far side of the slightly muddy and trampled green. "Over there. That small path from the corner leads up to side of the house."

Laura was slightly dubious. Although memories from her research suggested that Jane's plan was possible, she wasn't sure, given the design of Jane's estate, that they would remain undetected. However as the consequences of ignoring her terrifying boss's equally formidable ex-wife were distinctly unappealing she decided to acquiesce and pulled up in the area indicated, checking carefully that the positioning would allow some choice of direction should an unanticipated quick getaway be in order.

_Basic Training Manual: Author Harry Pearce: Para 15: If possible ensure you have more than one means of exit._

By the time she'd emerged from the vehicle and locked it up Jane was striding as quickly as her ankle allowed towards the small stone path that at first glance led nowhere. The second glance revealed that it stretched over a pack horse bridge spanning a meandering brook and then into a wider lane which had in bygone years provided a panaromic view across open country but now sported high solid fences along one side, obviously intended to deter the curious. Laura already knew that Jane and her husband owned the house nearest to them but looking at the height of the barrier she wondered how they were supposed to access the property from the rear. Pole vaulting, unaccountably, did not feature on MI5's training courses. Momentarily distracted she suddenly realised with alarm that she'd lost sight of Jane, but then spied a small trodden path along the side fence. About half way down the fencing was broken by small doorway bearing a keypad into which Jane was punching some numbers**. **

The gate opened into a back garden, featuring a well manicured lawn complete with central water feature, not currently flowing, narrow borders dulled with the onset of autumn and a number of patio pots positioned in front of the full length sitting room windows. Laura thought it breathed boring and bland good taste minus any sense of individuality. Even that ultimate in kitsch, a garden gnome squatting on a toadstool, would have suggested that the householders took some personal interest in their sylvan surroundings. The impression of detachment was reinforced when Jane passed through without even a cursory glance at the few plants still in flower. It seemed to Laura that her companion's attention was focussed solely upon making a quick entry and an equally quick exit. Even allowing for anxiety over her daughter's whereabouts Laura would have expected Jane to express some relief at arriving in familiar surroundings after the experiences of the last twenty four hours. At the kitchen door Jane finally halted and looked expectantly at Laura who was already poised, bit between her teeth and picklock in hand.

"The lock is a Yale, can you get in?" Laura smiled. It was nice to feel wanted and even better to be invited to put her carefully acquired skills into action. "I hope so or MI5 have wasted a fair few pounds on training." With that she cautiously inserted the instrument, gave it an expert turn and with a click, behold, they had access. Jane made mental note to get a bolt fixed when she finally returned but for now she pushed at the door and trudged into the kitchen.

Once inside Jane quickly assessed her situation. '_No sign of Robin arriving back early thank_ _goodness'._ Hoping that her anxious look hadn't given her away she turned to Laura. "Make yourself a cup of tea if you like. I'll slip upstairs and pack a bag."

Laura felt obliged to ask, "The neighbour?"

"Won't hear anything but if you go into the sitting room stay towards the back, the blinds are half pulled but she might see movement in which case she'll be over and we'll be stuck here until midnight."

Once Jane had disappeared Laura decided to decline the offer of tea and instead examine the place, partly as practice for her spying skills and chiefly because she felt that something here wasn't quite right.

_Basic Training Manual: Author Sir Harry Pearce: Para 8: Note any clues to the subject's interests, family etc this may prove useful_.

The visual exercise took her all of about three minutes, the sitting room was comfortable, expensively furnished and for a home occupied by two educated adults curiously impersonal, no photographs, no CD's or books on display, decor in studiously neutral colours. If she hadn't known better she'd have thought it was part of a hotel suite. Like the garden it lacked any sense of life. Perhaps Jane kept all the clutter upstairs or filed it in the double garage attached to the property. Wondering if she could help Jane she wandered into the hallway. A few pieces of post lay on the mat; Jane might want to peruse them. As Laura bent to pick them up she gave the papers a cursory scan. The total correspondence consisted of two bills, a postcard and a flier offering a cut price session of colonic irrigation advertised with the classy slogan '_Remove the pooh for a sparkling_ _you'_. Considering the subject matter Laura thought the sludge brown lettering was an unfortunate colour choice. As she turned the papers over in her hands noises from upstairs suggested that Jane wasn't exactly lingering over her packing. Laura could trace the activity via the tread of her footsteps from bathroom to bedroom and back again. Then another sound reached her ears, that of an engine driving past. Oh dear not the neighbours. No more than Jane did she want to be held up. Erin Watts had made her expectations plain when giving Laura her orders, _'make it quick, keep your mouth shut and if you tell Mrs Townsend anything at all about Sir Harry's private life I'll make sure you never set foot in Thames House again_'. Laura, although expecting her P45 from Sir Harry any day now, desperately wanted to stay in Section D. Blow this operation and she'd be regarding the last Intel analyst as lucky: at least she'd survived to be delivered to Tring, albeit as a quivering wreck.

_Basic Training Advice: Author: Everyone employed in MI5, MI6, CO19 and the Home Office_: _Do not provoke Sir Harry into erupting_.

Absentmindedly shoving Jane's post into her pocket Laura crept into the back of the sitting room and glanced towards the window – discerning the shadow of a car seemed to be parked outside. The mirror over the fireplace part reflected the image, striped by the blinds, of a large dark vehicle with tinted windows. Had the neighbour suddenly acquired a visitor? At this moment Jane clattered downstairs carrying a couple of bulging holdalls.

Turning her head Laura said, "I think your neighbour might be occupied – she has company."

"Well that's a first – she rarely does –hmm an expensive car as well." Jane was about to approach the window when Laura pulled her back. "Wait."

'_If it's a break from the normal pattern it's wise to check.'_ '_Basic Training Manual: Author Harry Pearce: Para 18.'_

"Can I go upstairs?" She didn't wait for assent but moved quickly. About twenty seconds later she reappeared. "Jane I don't like this - the car is just sitting. I think we're being staked out. What time do you normally arrive home?"

"Usually just a little later than now. Why?"

"I think the men in that car are waiting for you."

Jane nearly laughed in Laura's face. Then she reconsidered, Harry had been taking scrupulous care with her security, she'd wondered if he was being over protective but maybe he was right. After all he'd survived this long in a high risk profession despite the best, or worst efforts, of the KGB, CIA, IRA and various high profile criminals to play Terminator.

"Well Laura, any ideas, even creeping out by the side we'll run the risk of being seen. And I don't fancy sitting here tamely waiting to be taken."

Laura considered and then asked, "Anyone around here who might be in at the moment?"

Jane nearly snapped her irritation at being asked such a silly question before remembering that Laura was a spook, presumably being trained by Harry and therefore not likely in an emergency to be distracted by trivia.

"Yes number nine. She's usually accidentally adjusting her net curtains when anyone passes by. It seems to be a fifty times a day task."

Laura began to splutter before managing to ask,"and the owner's name?"

"Mrs Perfect Children." Laura just continued to stare, "Alright, Mrs Emma Winnick."

Laura quickly pulled out her phone, dialled 999 and in a totally different voice, one of a woman terrified to the point of hysteria began to scream. "Officer, I've seen two strange men in a car just up the road. One of them has just exposed himself and is now making threatening gestures with a knife." Jane heard the soothing voice of the operator going though the usual questions. Having departed not a jot from the frightened persona she'd assumed Laura proceeded to give the address and name of Jane's esteemed neighbour before ringing off with a satisfied grin.

"Got your bags Jane? Right give me one and when the police arrive we get out asap."

Jane wasn't about to argue as she passed one bag to Laura. She did wonder though if the police would take the call seriously. This she reflected was getting dangerous. If she had time to think, she'd be terrified, although in a strange way she also felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of outwitting the enemy, whoever they were. Nothing and no one was going to get in the way of her main priority of getting back to London and her family – family Graham and Harry! She'd worry about her mental state later, at present she just hoped her treacherous ankle would hold out.

While they waited Laura asked curiously, "Sorry to seem nosey, but your nickname for Mrs Winnick?"

Jane groaned wearily, "I had the dubious pleasure of teaching her children. According to her they both illuminate the institution that educates them by their very presence and should be top of the G&T register."

"Er sorry what's that?"

"My turn to apologise, teachers' jargon. G&T is shorthand for Gifted and Talented, although the alcoholic version was roughly what I felt in crying need of after attempting to teach either of them. According to Mum young Tamara combines the skills Kate Winslet, Katherine Jenkins and Darcy Bussell. Only there was one small problem."

"Which was?"

"Can't sing, can't dance but I'll give her that she's got a limited acting ability, she does the injured innocent to perfection." Jane drew a quick breath before continuing, "At least I didn't have to try to teach Crispin, that's the boy, the violin. Five years of effort and according to my colleague it still sounded like a strangled cat. You don't often see a grown man in tears."

Laura's lips twitched slightly. "Not so gifted and talented then."

"It's relative. They are both tremendously gifted at whining. If any teacher breathed over them, let alone attempted to discipline the pair Mum was up to school complaining that we didn't understand her sensitive little cherubs."

The distant wail of a siren informed them that the time for movement was arriving. The sound cut out as the police car drew nearer but the partial vision reflected onto the mirror told them that the navy blue uniforms were moving towards the watchers. Laura with a twitch of her head indicated to Jane that they should go. Creeping very carefully through the kitchen and closing the door quietly they hurried through the garden and out into the lane. Even at that distance the sounds of an argument carried over the crisp autumn air. Judging by the angry exchanges it seemed likely that the men in shades would be delayed for sometime. Speedily, with Jane resolutely ignoring the pain in her ankle they hurried to the car. Opening the doors they threw in both themselves and the holdalls. Laura hastily strapped herself in and then rammed the key into the ignition. As the engine roared into life the now customary unfinished apology also began. "Sorry Jane..."

God, the girl had just got them away from danger very efficiently, what on earth was she apologising for this time? Jane was tempted to ask her but waited with interest to hear Laura's next words.

"You may want to hang onto your stomach." With that Laura stamped on the accelerator and roared out of the village at a speed Concorde might have envied.

_Basic_ _Training Manual: Author Harry Pearce: Para 60: If in danger ignore the speed limit and get back to base._

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**_Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Many thanks for the kind reviews. They are much appreciated. **

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_Back on the Grid approx 4.30 pm_

Huddled around Calum's computer the three Senior Officers were taking the opportunity afforded by Harry's absence to speculate upon the messy dynamics of the Pearce Townsend family. The discussion having been kickstarted by a testy Calum reappearing from the interview room in which Graham was currently taking an involuntary sojourn.

By the time Erin and Dimitri had arrived at Thames House the novelty value of Graham's company had well and truly worn off. As a result Erin, in her capacity as Section Chief, had announced that it was Calum's turn to be exposed to the full force of Graham's offensive charm, subject to the medical officer's confirmation that he was fit to complain, shout and eventually co-operate.

On his return from attempting to wring some useful information from Graham the shattered technical officer had flopped into his chair declaiming in all seriousness, "If Catherine is anything like Graham I'd pay the CIA to keep her."

Erin murmured soothingly, "Perhaps she's more like Harry or Jane."

Calum was not to be comforted, "You mean overweight, balding and bad tempered with an attitude problem, or attractive but with a tongue that could petrify a Panzer division –Terrific."

Erin flicking through the sparse Intel they had acquired to date had concerns beyond Calum's masterly dissection of the parental character responsible for moulding the delightful Graham as she sighed, "I hope that this gets us somewhere. Harry is really looking worried. That's understandable. I know how terrified I felt about Rosie being in danger. Have either of you given a thought to the implications of Harry's family being involved and..."

She was halted by a firm interjection from Dimtri, "Yes I had and that gives us a mega problem." Erin and Calum stared as their normally even tempered colleague, having gained their attention, continued. "Listen you two weren't here for Albany. Harry ignored Ruth's advice and took a major chance on trusting Lucas aka Bateman because of their history. You both know what happened, that's how you ended up in Section D. He trusted Elena because of their past involvement and look how that turned out. Harry with emotional investment in an op is dangerous because he doesn't think clearly."

"So what do we do? I might be Section Chief but I can't tell him he's off the case – well I can but I'd like to live."

The trio heaved a group sigh. Harry did many things brilliantly but sitting uninvolved on the sidelines wasn't among them. One of the lesser mysteries of Section D was how Harry the Action Man, unreliable knee not withstanding, had ever been cajoled into mulching down behind a desk. Finally Dimitri came up with a desperate suggestion, "I wonder if Jane could persuade him?"

Erin nearly choked. "Di she's not a spook and they ..."

"I know that, but it does mean that she has a different perspective on him."

Before Erin could muster an answer Calum interrupted, "Yeah, I read about it in the divorce papers..."

Any further conversation was instantly halted by the sight of Harry plunging through the Pods. His worries signalled by his barking without preamble,"Any further news about Laura and Jane?" Everyone turned to Calum for an update.

"They're now nearing the outskirts of London, I've been tracking them through the earrings you forced onto the Grid's very own Essex girl." He caught Harry's expression; plonk a lacy cap on his head and he would have resembled a drag version of unamused Queen Victoria. "Sorry."

Harry's attention was occupied with more pressing matters than rebuking Calum's witticisms "Any sign of danger?"

"Only to Laura's driving licence judging by the speed. Erin sent some of the foot soldiers out in case the CIA try to intercept." Harry nodded at this. "Thanks Erin, Very well, any further Intel?" He sounded commanding but no one was deceived, Harry was increasingly concerned by the lack of progress. Once again all eyes were on Calum who replied calmly, "Can you give me half an hour Harry? Graham gave a good description and I'm trying to match the face we created with the local CCTV and possibly facial recognition."

Harry hoped that Graham hadn't been stringing Calum along as he asked, "Can I see the picture?"

In response Calum turned around the laptop. Two pictures were displayed featuring the same young man, one defined in monchrome and the other coloured as per Graham's description. Harry's eyebrows went up, if this was accurate then Graham had definitely taken a long hard look at his sister's visitor. Who was this stranger and what was he to Catherine? Harry, in the throes of his increasingly contorted involvement with Ruth had never dared ask Catherine about her long term but now seemingly abandoned boyfriend Fabien? He could, he supposed, mention it to Jane. At least that would ensure some conversation during the long reaches of the evening ahead. His speculation concerning his daughter's relationships was disturbed by Erin who'd been staring at the images, a frown wrinkling her normally smooth brow.

"Harry, I don't recognise this person but the face looks vaguely familiar."

Before Harry could reply Dimitri chimed in with, "Yes I agree." Harry was beginning to wonder if Dimitri's yearnings for Erin were transforming him into MI5's version of Little Sir Echo. He was sounding more '_I agree with Nick' _by the day, with the minor difference that it was his love life rather than his job that was in peril.

Despite this reflection Harry, on casting a more searching look at the computer screen, also found himself agreeing with the Grid's pair of turtledoves. The face struck a memory chord but from where? Nice normal people recognised others in the context of the school friend, work colleague or fellow hobbyists; spies made instant comparisons with terrorists, drug barons, dodgy businessmen, corrupt politicians and double agents**. **Interestingly Calum showed no sign of recognition – someone from the field then? That didn't exactly narrow the choice but at least it was a starting point, if, and it was a big if, Graham was accurate. Harry hoped his misgivings weren't justified, Graham had a good brain, he just failed to use it for anything worthwhile. How easily had he co-operated? Harry didn't dare enquire. He wanted to avoid embarrassing his staff by forcing a reply that would, in its, turn embarrass him.

Finally he settled for asking, "Dimitri what did the medics say about your nose?" And then as if it was a casual afterthought, "And is Graham okay, I did hit him rather hard."

Standing behind Harry's back Erin and Calum waited agog to see how Dimtri fielded this one. Their own view was that Harry had rather under reacted. Erin had spent most of the journey back to the Grid fantasising about boiling oil, disembowelling and the fate of Edward the Second while Dimitri, who was a gentler soul, had preferred to ponder the contrasting merits of steamrollers and car crushers. Dimitri responded with smooth tact.

"My nose hurts a bit but it's not quite as painful as Graham's injury. The doctor said no lasting problem, but his love life might be a little painful for the next couple of weeks." He saw no need to appraise Harry that the very idea of Graham breeding had made the team gag. Or his own very private thought that given a choice of bruised appendage he'd take a battered nose any day of the week, especially if there was a chance of bed and breakfast at Erin's this evening. Seeing Calum smirk Dimitri added, "But I don't think Graham took too kindly to Calum's offering him ice cubes to soothe the afflicted area."

Calum glared daggers, but fortunately Harry limited his reply to stating, "Tell me any man who wouldn't wince at that thought. I'm interested though to know what impelled you to make the offer."

Calum opted for truth over diplomacy. "He was moaning that the pain made him unable to think – so I offered therapy for the swollen part. Then he complained that my suggestion would make everything shrivel." Harry didn't need to ask more. Graham obviously hadn't mellowed. It was a minor miracle that Calum had extracted anything useful from him. He was about to risk enquiring how Calum had managed to achieve the seemingly impossible when Calum having second guessed this thought added, "But when I showed him the CCTV of Jane being blasted into the road he blanched and began to shake. I honestly don't think he'd realised just how nearly she'd been killed."

Harry felt some relief, at least if Graham was concerned about his mother and sister a chance of bridge building with the women in the family existed. He'd given up on that eventuality for himself. Before he could comment further Erin chimed in, "Harry we kept Graham in the building."

"Why?"

"Calum had just finished with him when Jane rang in. I wasn't sure if you wanted to let him go since the CIA are targeting your nearest and dearest." Harry picked up on her involuntary note of sarcasm and glared. "I'm afraid it didn't go down well and we had to lock him in."

Hell! The worst possible thing she could have done given Graham's history. Erin went on, "I did send in a meal in as he complained about being hungry." Deciding to follow where Calum had led she detailed the remainder of Graham's extended litany." And then he complained about the uncomfortable chairs, the unsympathetic doctor, the police targeting him, the repressive regime we represent, the food we brought him..." she tailed off in a way worthy of Laura as Harry caught her eye, pulled herself up and concluded, "Basically his life, the universe and everything."

With a distinct lack of enthusiasm Harry groaned. "Thanks Erin. I suppose I'd better go and talk to him."

The team picked up the tone but held their collective peace, keen spooks though they were, and much as they wanted to ease Harry's burden none of them was going to volunteer for another face to face with Graham. Face to fist possibly.

Harry thought for a moment and then demanded, "Calum bring me one of those small trackers, the ones that can be fitted onto a belt to look like a stud."

While Calum disappeared in search of the gadget Harry turned to Dimitri with one word. "Garside."

"Not speaking beyond saying he doesn't really know anything at all."

Harry snorted, "So he was just sitting by accident outside my daughter's flat, not catching a bus and it was sheer chance that the next person - what did happen to the other man?"

"Tracker went dead about an hour ago. Could mean they found it, nothing concrete yet. Erin thought we'd keep Garside until we get a more definite lead and then have another go. Calum has some of the junior officers combing the CCTV."

Calum reappearing added, "With the time they've spent staring at computers we'll be taking out a contract with Specsavers." As he handed Harry a small package he continued, "Here's the tracker Harry. It's state of the art, but not as obvious as Jane's earrings, I doubt they'd suit Graham – he's been quite definite on the issue of being heterosexual." '_As in announcing that I'd better not be a bum bandit or he'd smash my face in._'

Harry grimaced slightly, "They didn't suit Jane either." Thinking about Jane he instructed, "When she and Laura get in bring them straight to Graham. Jane will want to see him and I need to have a few words with Laura." As he turned to leave he heard Erin whisper, "Goodbye Laura I trust." Harry feigned deafness; dealing with Graham was his immediate priority.

Once Harry was safely out of earshot Calum turned to Erin, "Does Jane strike you as insane?" Erin shook her head. "Thought not, so why on earth would she even admit giving birth to Graham, let alone wanting to see him?"

Erin threw him a slightly superior smile. "It's called mother love."

Calum was rendered speechless as he struggled not to snigger at the sight of Dimitri standing behind Erin tapping the side of his head with his index finger. A gesture that would, had Erin been blessed with a spare pair of eyes, destroyed the promise of the evening ahead.

Harry as he made his way to the interview rooms clutching the tracker preferred not to contemplate the words Graham had used to entertain his team. He didn't suspect; he knew that they had all conspired to redact the foul mouthed details. Instead, as if he'd been thrown three decades backwards in time, he preferred to ruminate upon the options available to him to preserve the safety of Jane and their children. He'd succeeded in doing so all those years ago but at the price of his family life going completely awry, as in vanishing altogether. He wasn't unaware of the irony that told him the very reason they now needed him now was due to the danger they were all in, made manifest by the events of the past few hours. He only took a grim pleasure in being wanted by them at long last. He couldn't entirely banish the dispiriting thought that it was his skills they wanted, not him as a person, or that Jane's continuing acceptance of his hospitality was motivated by simple expediency. The prospect of facing Graham was depressing enough. His own son and they couldn't even manage two sentences without coming to blows. How had it ever got to this point?

If he'd hoped that a long wait and decent meal had softened Graham's stance Harry would have been disappointed. Fortunately he was a realist and therefore not particularly surprised when, upon unlocking the room, his appearance was instantly greeted by yet another self pitying tirade couched in language that made Harry wish he'd substituted Jane's bar of soap for the tracker.

Graham finally ended with the sneer, "The great Sir Harry Pearce. God they'll knight anyone these days."

Privately Harry agreed. A title that had also been generously bestowed upon various political brown nosers, not to mention a geriatric song and dance poser with a prominent chin, a croaking remnant from the sixties whose chief claim to fame was the statement that he couldn't get any satisfaction, plus a motley assortment of thespians who put the '_luv_' into luvvie, wasn't in his view any great honour at all. National treasures they may be but in his jaded opinion most of them should have remained buried. He really thought that if Her Gracious Majesty was minded to bestow a knighthood upon Mr Golden Balls, accompanied by the Lady Posh, he might consider committing treason again just to get rid the handle. However seeing no need to encourage Graham in his delayed adolescent rebellion he ignored the insult as he replied,

"Graham you are free to go but before you do please hear me out."

"When have you ever bloody well listened not to us? Don't know who's worse for kidding me that you care, you or that sodding tosser Robin"

"I can't answer for Robin and you'll never believe me whatever I say Graham. However your mother does care, very much, and that's why I need you to wear this for the next few days. At least until we find out what's happened to Catherine." With that Harry handed Graham the tracker.

Graham examined it for a few minutes before expostulating, "Dad is this what I think it is – Great you damage my groin and now you want to listen in to my sex life, you prurient bastard"

Harry's response was crisp. "Graham it's a tracker not a bug and for the record I've listened to more tapes of people shagging that the average porn producer, it comes with the job. These days I get my buzz from whisky. I need to track you for other reasons. Your mother's house was staked out by the CIA."

Astonished by that last sentence a shaken Graham finally dropped the attitude. For the first time in the day he sounded almost normal, "What – and why?"

"That, as Shakespeare put it Graham, is the question."

"And don't get started on bloody Shakespeare. I had enough of that from Mum." Graham thought for a moment and then shouted, "So that's why you're pretending to care. You're just using her – what's this about her advising your officer? Sodding typical. You use everyone."

Glad to get onto slightly more neutral ground Harry offered an explanation, "Actually it was PC Bleeding Nose who asked. He's a bit stuck as he doesn't understand the arty crowd. Your mother's going with him to sort out the details of some Shakespearian presentations at a Reception later this week."

Graham's face suddenly lit up with an expression of amused horror that reminded Harry of the drug free boy he'd occasionally caught sight of: "And I thought you liked him! Mum on Shakespeare –God help him! You're talking about the woman who once spent half an hour helping Catherine with her homework by giving her a lecture on the use of the word tongue in Richard the Second. But then you weren't there were you. Never bloody were."

Harry had wondered how long it would take to revert to this grievance. While he could make several allowances for Graham's disaffection with life he was seriously wondering if anything would every return Graham to the normal boy he'd once known. Then again had he ever really known his son? Graham had been three when Jane had demanded the divorce. It may have been nearly another decade before she and Robin married but his access to the children had been curtailed by the demands of his job, the only thing that had kept him sane. Equally damaging, as he'd realised too late, had been the insidious comments of Robin. Harry wasn't exactly absolving Jane from her part in that but he had experienced enough loneliness himself over the past few years to understand how, when feeling neglected and let down by her husband, she'd fallen for Robin's smooth self publicising claptrap. Besides in the present day he was inclined to endorse Jane's opinion that Graham at his age was now responsible for his own choices, or was he? Had drugs affected him long term? Tempted as Harry was to take his son by the shoulders and shake him until his eyeballs rattled he opted for a gentler way of reminding Graham that he was not the only person to exist.

"Your Mum's safe, thanks for asking. But if the CIA went after her, they may go after you. I don't think she could take losing both her children in forty eight hours and I want to prevent that happening. I could send you to a safe house but – forgive me for saying this Graham - with the time you've spent in small enclosed spaces in Rehab and cells you'd be climbing up the walls, so this is the next best option."

Graham looked as if he'd received a Damascene revelation – "Hell this isn't an act is it. You really do care about her." Watching Graham struggle to assimilate this strange concept Harry remained silent. After about thirty seconds Graham returned to a modified attack. "Well if you do care about her do something to get that second disaster she married out of her hair. Then I might start believing you."

Harry's face developed the jaw clenching, eye sparking furious cast he usually adopted whenever he thought about Robin. Now was not the time to remind Graham of how cheerfully he'd espoused all Robin's liberal notions concerning the state.

"I can't do that until your mother tells me what is really up and.." He was interrupted by Graham. "I can tell you that, Robin's quite literally up the skirt of some teenage tart and..."

"Maybe Graham, I'd already guessed that a younger woman was involved from something your mother said earlier but..."

Graham was on a furious roll as he continued, "Younger! The little trollop is hardly out of nappies and yet Mum refuses to divorce him! We rowed about it – I mean why not get shut of him? She left you...God she sure picks them."

Harry now knew why the religious prayed not to fall into temptation; it proved irresistible as he asked Graham in a faked spirit of innocent enquiry, "Are you by any chance you saying that a representative of the Gestapo has his uses?"

Distracted by their conversation neither had heard the approach of stealthy footsteps until a voice wandered into the room closely followed by its owner, "I'm back and still in one piece, thanks to Laura."

Harry looked over towards the doorway where a shrinking Laura was valiantly attempting to blend with the paintwork. "Ah Laura, quite an exciting journey I hear. How many speeding tickets did you collect?"

In her nervous state Laura completely missed the warm inflection in his voice. "S, S, Sorry Sir but I thought we should get home quickly."

Harry reverted to command mode as he replied, "At least you've proved you can think, I've sometimes wondered. Very well Miss Dixon I need your report asap and please do not leave the Grid. I'll see you in my office in fifteen minutes, is that clear?"

Laura disappeared, obviously terrified that she might get lost within the bowels of Thames House and be late for the meeting, the confident glow she'd radiated earlier extinguished. Jane noticed this and in spite of having wanted desperately to get back to Harry was now wondering if it was an indictable offence to thump the Head of Section D. She opened her mouth but her words remained stillborn when Harry interrupted. "Jane and I think you and Graham need to talk. Graham, please remember what I've said. I'll send Erin down to collect you in a few minutes." With that he left, pleased to have avoided any major scenes. As relations with Graham went their discussion had verged on the civilised.

Jane and her son were left staring at each other. Finally Graham broke the silence. "Sorry Mum."

"Sorry for what? For not speaking to me for eighteen months, for being so damn rude to your father's staff, for yelling about Robin in front of your father. The one thing I didn't want him to know about was the mess I've made of my life since we last met."

"Mum I'm sorry, but don't you think Dad would've found out eventually. For God's sake he's a spy not a pen pushing civil servant. Anyway what makes you think his life is such a success – he's never remarried has he. I'll keep in touch. Tell Dad I'll wear his tracker until I hear otherwise but I still don't want to have anything to do with him. I've told his dogsbody what they need to help find Catherine."

"Thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

Graham snarled, "I bet he will, Daddy's little girl, always his favourite – save her life in sodding Lebanon. Never comes near me."

Despite his attempts to mollify her Jane felt the now familiar exasperation with her son welling up.

"Well do you give the impression that you want him to? You've just told me you don't want anything to do with him. I've shoved him away for years as well and he's respected that. He could have walked away from me last night but he didn't. And with the events of this afternoon I'm damn glad that I swallowed some of my pride and accepted his help."

Graham's scowl made it clear that in his opinion she'd turned Quisling. He gave an exhausted harrmph as he pushed past her in his efforts to leave, accidently brushing her injured shoulder. The anguished "Oww" this brought forth reminded him what he'd seen on the CCTV and Calum's very unminced words about the danger she'd been in. Instantly contrite and with great reluctance he felt forced to admit, "Well at the moment you're probably better off with Dad than Rob the Knob. At least Dad can defend you against all comers including the CI bloody A."

As if the phrase had touched a memory he suddenly added, "I've just remembered. The bloke I described..." Jane waited, "He sounded English but I think he might have been American. His voice was a bit like Daniel's"

This was not a statement that would have made much sense to others but it did to Jane. Daniel had been a school friend of Graham's in the days before drugs took over his life. Born American, brought up in England his accent. although English, occasionally carried the slight cadence of transatlantic vowels.

"Are you absolutely sure about that, because following a false lead could have disastrous results for your sister." Jane tried but failed to avoid a slight sob creeping into her voice. Graham nodded unable to bring himself to comment on her evident distress.

"I'll pass it on, and Graham do think about trying to talk to your father occasionally. Despite all the evidence to the contrary he is human."

"If you prick us do we not bleed?" Give it a rest Mum this is real life not sodding Shakespeare. He's a bloody robot for the state. That's all he cares about." As if to compensate for the harshness of his comments about his father Graham gave her a quick hug, just as Erin suddenly materialised at the doorway. Her arrival prevented Jane from arguing her point. Following Erin as she guided them through the labyrinth that was Thames House Jane shook her head sadly. For years she'd influenced the children against Harry. She only wished some of her classroom lessons had been as successful.

Upstairs on the Grid a very nervous Laura was waiting for Harry, her worries made worse by his arrival back on the Grid when Harry had walked straight past her without a glance and hauled Erin into his office. Erin left looking extremely unhappy and shot Laura a furious look on her way to the pods saying, "You're to go in now." Her face implied '_You're for it.'_

Few people obeyed a summons to partake of a private interview in Harry's office without apprehension and Laura was no exception to that rule. Trembling she approached the inner sanctum and carefully knocked on the door. Everyone knew that Sir Harry roared at anyone who didn't, although rumour held that the last permanent Intel analyst had been able to get away with it. On the command, "Come in," she entered saying as she did, "Sorry Sir I haven't quite finished my report but..." The expression on Harry's face made her falter.

He didn't invite her to sit as he began: "Miss Dixon I took you into this section on probation. For the last few weeks I've seriously wondered and still do as to whether if confronted with a terrorist you'd be saying sorry as you shot him..." Laura gulped, here it came, the dismissal. "I said that I would give you my decision when I'd made it. I have done so and require your signature on this paper stating that your probation is at an end." Laura could feel the tears pricking her eyes. She'd tried so hard and failed. Behind them was also a sense of burning injustice, she'd worked so hard, done her best and today had even managed to outwit the CIA. What more did the bloody man want? Had he expected her to dive out of Jane's house and indulge in TV style kickass karate chops or tackle the two men with kitchen implements adapted into an effective garrotte? She wanted to shout this out loud but decided that it would be preferable to leave with an icy dignity. Picking up a pen she signed on the line Harry had indicated.

"Very well Miss Dixon, assuming that you wish to remain with Section D.." Ehh had she heard correctly? Harry had obviously expected an answer. "Well do you?"

"Sorry Sir, Yes Sir, very much Sir Harry." Laura babbling in her eagerness made Harry smile inwardly. He remembered once being enthusiastic himself. Where had it all gone? Tempered mainly by age, disaster and death combined with a liberal flavouring of betrayal and disappointment.

"Then please sign this for the HR department."

Picking up the paper Harry continued, "I'd advise you to try to break the habit of apologising every other minute but if you must you must. What is important Laura is whether you can cope with the unexpected and be prepared – you proved today that you can. You still need further training and have a long way to go but well done. And thank you for keeping Mrs Townsend safe."

"Er..."

"Yes Laura, something to add?"

"I'm not sure that I should say anything Sir, it's just..well... I'm not certain...but.."

Harry was beginning to wonder if he'd live long enough to hear the end of her sentence.

"Well if I hadn't known better I'd have thought that ..."

"Thought what?"

"That Mrs Townsend didn't live there." As Sir Harry stared at her she ploughed on, "It's just I saw nothing that looked personal in the house." Should she add anything else? Laura saw Sir Harry looking at her with interest, that made a pleasant change so she decided to push it further. "The reason we got away Sir was because Jane.. er... Mrs Townsend asked me to park on the green." She hesitated again.

Harry realising she was uncomfortable prompted her, "Why do you think she did that?"

"I'm not sure Sir, she said she wanted to be in and out quickly to avoid the neighbour over the road who's chatty but ..well... but I think the real reason was she didn't want to be seen. At least obviously she didn't want to be seen by the neighbour but I meant others as well. Not just the CIA because we weren't.." Oh God she was babbling like an idiot. Any minute now Sir Harry would change his mind, she'd been so near and blown it.

An interesting revelation indeed. Little did Laura know it but her last few sentences had just confirmed to Harry that he'd made the right decision. She'd been afraid but she'd done what she saw as her duty in reporting an uneasy feeling without any prior Intel to work on. Harry thought she was probably accurate as well. Combined with Graham's information, Jane's statements and his own unease he was curious but he hid it behind an impassive face as he said; "Thanks Laura. I appreciate the confidence but it might be better if Mrs Townsend doesn't know we had this conversation"

"Yes Sir. Official secrets and all that?" It was a question.

His response was dry, "Mrs Townsend as you know is my ex wife. That makes her part of my private life and that is an Official Secret. Now Laura I need your report."

Laura withdrew in short order but as she danced back to her desk Harry, gazing through the glass panels of his office wall, saw her punching the air in glee. Well it was nice to make someone happy for once although Erin wasn't about to high five with Laura any time soon. She'd spent a good few minutes arguing about Harry's decision, citing lack of discretion, lack of self respect as evidenced by Laura's personal appearance and lack of confidence. Considering Jane's earlier analysis Harry thought the main objection was the diffident Laura's unwillingness try to progress by currying favour with her superiors; a trait which definitely made her his type of officer.

Thoughts of the misery he so often brought reminded him he was due in the Briefing Room in a few minutes. The sound of the pods opening reached his ears. Looking across at Jane and Erin emerging he began to wonder if he'd ever again manage to bring a look of joy to Jane's face. His mirror told him that he was no longer the love's young dream she'd mistakenly married, he hadn't been for years, but he now had a slight chance of proving to her that he wasn't the total nightmare she'd once accused him of being.

Watching her walking onto the Grid he remembered the last time he thought he'd had a second chance. The one he'd destroyed so spectacularly with an ill thought out, ill phrased marriage proposal. He pushed the hope away. If he didn't blow it himself, fate would probably do it for him. Just accept it. Sir Harry Pearce super spy was now so incapable of functioning outside that world he didn't do or deserve personal happiness. Even so as he saw Jane approach his office his spirits lifted just a notch, until she stormed in without knocking saying in a furious voice.

"Harry. A word. Now."

* * *

**For the benefit of readers not based in the UK the song and dance man referred to was Bruce Forsyth, I cut a reference to Jimmy Saville as that is a situation which has ceased to be anything other than appalling. 'I agree with Nick' was a phrase used in the three leaders debate by the then Primeminster Gordon Brown with reference to the utterances of the leader of the minority Lib Dem party. **

**Please review if you have a moment. Thanks **


	17. Chapter 17

**_Many thanks to those who've stayed with this so far, especially to those who've taken the trouble to review. This chapter could be subtitled 'The circles of spies'_**

_Briefing Room approx 5.30_

Harry's brief flare of pleasure at seeing Jane was instantly extinguished by the fury in her voice. Vainly searching his memory for an inkling of what could have so angered her he was moved to protest, "Jane I didn't touch Graham, I swear."

"It's not about Graham, although I will congratulate you on your restraint in not putting our chances of grandchildren at risk twice in one day. It's about Laura."

Now Harry was completely lost, "Why what's she done?"

"Only saved me from the CIA. But what I wanted to say was how could you Harry?"

Harry was still staring at her in confusion. Jane sighed, she should have remembered that emotional intelligence was not Harry's long suit, short suit or even bespoke suit. She gathered her breath to commence another assault on his masculine obtuseness. "As I said, despite coping admirably with a nasty situation she's worried sick about failing her probation. She gets us back here safely and what do you do? Invite her into your office for a bollocking. I'm not trying to interfere with your staffing decisions..." She caught Harry's sceptical expression, "No I'm not, although I will say that the girl seems dedicated – that's why she was reading the works of Shakespeare – but if you are going to get rid of her don't prolong it, that's just cruel and vindictive." She met Harry's highly amused eye, "And why are you laughing? It's not funny."

"Sorry but even I need a good chuckle occasionally."

With those words Harry arose from his chair and walked around his desk, joining her near the vantage point of the glass panels. Pointing across the Grid he stated, "Look." Jane stared, transfixed by the sight of a grinning Laura. Turning to Harry she demanded, "What on earth...?" Harry seeing Jane's astonishment continued to smile as broadly as Laura while commenting. "I'm not sure but just possibly it's something to do with my telling her she's not on probation any longer."

Jane swapped fury for indignation, "And you let shout at you without ... allowing me to make a fool of myself... you, you bas..."

Harry sighed wearily, "Jane please don't call me a bastard. I've heard that often enough from Graham for one day. Besides which my parents were actually married. "

"Fine. You total shit then. Is that okay?"

He shook his head in mock sorrow, "It makes a slight change I suppose. Anyway can you enlighten me about the fascinating mystery of Laura and the complete works of Shakespeare, with particular reference as to how you solved it?"

"Easy. I asked her. I don't think she planned to tell me but she was on a high after outwitting the CIA so it spilled out."

Harry while, noting that this was a trait that Laura would have warned about, waited for Jane to explain further. "Seemingly after we departed from the Grid this morning Calum, as a joke, advised her to brush up on her Shakespeare as a piece of careers advice. Laura was so anxious to please she began to speed read the complete works. I told you, she's dedicated, possibly to the point of idiocy." By now Harry was shaking with laughter, completely ignoring the baleful eyes of a fuming Jane.

"It's not funny Harry. Calum may have thought it amusing but in some workplaces that behaviour could be regarded as low grade bullying."

These last words sobered Harry as he hastened to defend Calum. "Jane, that's a bit strong. Calum wouldn't dream of..."

Jane cut him short. "I know that Harry. From the little I've seen of Calum I'm sure that he'd be mortified at the thought. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he's far more sensitive than he shows and that the jokey exterior is a defence mechanism. You'd not be tolerating him if he wasn't serious about his job."

Harry wondered if the means existed whereby he could prise the utterly useless Debra Langham out of the comfortably appointed eerie in which she ineptly lurked and install Jane in her stead. Reluctantly he concluded that the second part of that plan would be beyond even his powers of manipulation. Since on minimal acquaintance Jane had so far managed to be bang on the button regarding his senior team he could only regret the sheer implausibility of that particular notion. She was right, Calum did hide his sensitive side well but Harry had never forgotten that it had been the Grid joker who'd urged Erin and Dimitri to draw away and give Harry a few private minutes to weep over Ruth and make his immediate farewells. Calum's words on that occasion were burnt into Harry's memory, as was every other action undertaken in the frantic fifteen minutes dominated by those three fateful D's: disaster, death and deception. As his memories of that day flickered across his brain and vanished he noticed Jane's look of distress.

"Sorry Jane I didn't mean to make fun of you. You're right about Laura and I've already thanked her for getting you back in one piece." Jane's expression didn't alter a jot. Harry began to feel concerned, even an experienced spook would have felt frayed at the edges by the events she'd endured in the past twenty four hours.

"Jane are you alright? You've had a traumatic day, on top of the physical problems created by cracked ribs, your shoulder and that ankle."

Jane smiled wryly. "I can feel all three but that's not the problem." She looked Harry full in the eye as she continued, "It sounds odd, but when Laura first said it was the CIA I was terrified, but then... well within a few minutes that feeling passed and once we heard the police siren I began to get excited at the idea of outwitting them. I even felt elated once we'd escaped and that frightens me."

Harry asked gently, "Why worry about that Jane? It was simply the adrenaline kicking in, the reaction needed to stop you freezing and make you do something." Jane didn't look comforted as she almost shouted, "Because it made me understand why you couldn't give the job up. That fix makes you as big a junkie as Graham. God help me, I even began to understand why you'd bonded with your colleagues, had affairs with them and dumped us."

Harry wasn't sure how to reply: that he was thankful she'd finally understood something of the underlying reasons for actions of his younger days: that he was sorry she was so disturbed by these revelations: that he wished she'd never been forced into the position that had precipitated her new understanding. Each and every one of those statements would be true but for once in his life he was out of answers. Jane was plainly teetering on the edge of some mental precipice. Her various mood swings an indication of emotional fragility and, recalling her earlier battles with depression, it behoved him to tread carefully. Some episodes in their wince making past required neither remembrance nor revisiting. His immediate dilemma was resolved by Erin's head popping around the door, the failure of the bulk of her body to follow suit negating the necessity of knocking.

"Harry could you join us please? Calum thinks he's found something – oh and Jane of course."

Jane's previous discomfort was instantly subsumed by irritation at the slight hesitation implying that in Erin's eyes she'd been downgraded to the status of an afterthought. Tempted as she was to expostulate Jane bore in mind that she was here only by courtesy of Harry and she suspected that he'd broken a number of security rules by allowing her to invade the Grid at all. Not wanting to add to his difficulties, '_was this really Jane Townsend formerly Pearce_ _thinking_' she offered her arm in mock formality, "Shall we then Sir Harry." Harry, still disturbed by her previous outburst asked quietly as he moved towards the door, "Jane, can we discuss later how you felt about today? "

"There's a first, you discussing feelings."

"I seem to recall doing that on a number of occasions."

"I said feelings, not urges. But yes if you feel so inclined. "

Harry's lips twitched lightly, "Which would you prefer to talk about?" He gestured to her to precede him, gratified by her involuntary gasp at his audacity. It would have surprised his team to learn how rarely he'd enjoyed the luxury of the last word in their domestic disputes.

Mutually relieved to be returning to their now customary state of friendly hostility they entered the Briefing Room together. Watching Harry take his seat at the head of the table Jane, as she slipped almost naturally in the seat beside Calum, began to worry afresh about how readily she seemed to be adapting to life on the Grid. She wasn't sure which current experience was worse, her gradual conversion into an amateur spook, the new light in which she was beginning to regard Harry or the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach induced by the molten glances Erin and Dimitri were giving one another when they thought their colleagues' attentions was directed elsewhere.

The team poised and ready to review the admittedly limited progress on '_The Mystery the Missing Daughter'_ were therefore slightly thrown by Harry's opening statement.

"Before discussing the events of today I wish to inform you that to help tide over the current problem of staff shortage plus increased work load Malcolm Wynne Jones, whom you have all met briefly, will be rejoining Section D on a temporary basis. He was due to start on Monday but in view of our current situation he will be coming in tomorrow. He has been accorded senior desk officer status."

Erin interjected, "So who will be senior? Calum is permanent and shouldn't be demoted."

Harry had guessed that she'd object, Calum had been dragged into Section D in Erin's wake during his post Albany suspension when Erin wanted someone she could trust in a hostile environment. Her ewe lamb versus his, the question carried just a hint of power struggle. It was Calum who intervened with a surprising hint of asperity.

"Erin, you don't ask an experienced genius like Malcolm Wynne Jones to play second fiddle." Erin opened her mouth to argue but was totally ignored by Calum who turned to address Harry directly.

"I'd suggest we share the responsibility, I don't have a problem with it. I can probably update Malcolm on a few bits of kit and I'm sure I can pick his brains in return." Calum didn't dare add more. No one in the room was about to mention in front of Jane that their only sighting of Malcolm had been of his standing behind an eagle lectern reading a poem at Ruth's funeral, followed up by a few remote nods as he tended to a shattered Harry.

Surreptitiously watching Erin rage Jane thought she couldn't have looked more shocked if Calum had stabbed her through the heart with one of her own stiletto heels**. **Perhaps that was why she wore them to work, a feminine do it yourself weapon for tight spots. Harry on the other hand relaxed infinitesimally as he replied, "Thank you Calum. Malcolm is not a man to encroach, he must be the only person ever employed by Section D to prefer a quiet life." With this topic satisfactorily disposed of he switched into the reason from their presence in the Meeting Room.

"Now Calum what has your expertise unearthed?"

Calum had also noticed Erin's anger which made him more than willing to gratify Harry's request. With luck Erin would have been sufficiently distracted by the end of the meeting to forget about his act of disloyalty. Contradicting her hadn't made him happy but the opportunity to work with Malcolm Wynne Jones, the techie equivalent of the legendary Harry Pearce was worth any perceived temporary drop in status. Leaving Erin to brood Calum began his recap of the event that had started the investigation.

"As we know Jane set off the bomb in Catherine's flat yesterday evening. The information Dimitri finally managed to extract from the Bomb Squad suggests that the bomb would take about an hour to wire up. From that it seemed clear that Catherine must have left the flat at around five to six pm at the latest. Probably earlier as whoever wired the bombs presumably knew the CCTV would be switched back on at six pm."

Erin picked up the theme briefly, "The police checked the other tenants in the flats and those either side. Without asking directly as they didn't want to arouse suspicions, the last time anyone definitely saw Catherine was mid morning, around ten thirtyish leaving and walking towards the bus stop end of the road. Her morning routine like her evening routine varies although the time she returns home is usually later than seven. The residents in the two flats above her are elderly and rarely go out at night but they know her movements because Catherine sometimes runs odd errands for them." Having finished she indicated to Calum to continue, the flash in her eyes suggesting that his defiance was only shelved, not forgotten.

Calum obliged with, "The CCTV was out of action that day on Catherine's street and two others nearby. So I combed the CCTV from the surrounding areas and eventually..."

Jane couldn't help herself, some positive information at last, as she blurted in thankfulness. "You found her."

Calum regarded her with sympathy. "Yes and no, watch." With a click of his laptop the grainy flicker of a CCTV tape began to play on the large screen at Harry's end of the Briefing room. The blurry pixels showed a young woman, whom both Harry and Jane instantly identified as Catherine, walking along an ordinary residential street. As she approached the road junction a vehicle drew up on the opposite side. Her head turned as if she'd been hailed. She crossed the street and climbed into the car which roared away. Annoyingly the image of the driver was unclear.

It was Harry who spoke first, "Is that it?" his frustration nearly as obvious as Jane's. Calum was too busy twiddling with his laptop to reply as yet another CCTV image sprang onto the screen. This time of a cleaned up still picture featuring the same car with the driver clearly visible, a young man perhaps in his early to mid twenties. Harry's immediate thought was that the subject depicted was slightly younger than Catherine. After a brief pause for the image to register with everyone Calum continued his lecture.

"I've matched this image up with the car Catherine got into. I then checked the CCTV from her street for the date and time Graham gave me for the chap he found visiting her. This is his picture which I superimposed on the image we created from Graham's description and Bob's your uncle. Or rather who the hell is this stranger?"

Erin had to say it, "Can we rely on Graham? I mean... I'm sorry Harry and Jane but with his behaviour can we trust him?"

Before either parent could rush to the defence of their adorable baby boy Dimitri interrupted, "From Calum's double checking I would say yes we can. Beside which although he grumbled about Harry and.." It occurred to Dimitri that he was on the verge of revealing unrepeatable comments. He stalled to reboot his defence of the unspeakable Graham. "He didn't say anything vile about Catherine herself so I think we can assume he did his best, although it's a pity he couldn't give us anything more."

That made Jane jump in. "Well he did tell me that he thinks the man might be American, something in his voice." Looking at the four sets of eyes staring at her reproachfully she hastened to add, "He only remembered when we were talking about the CIA." Dimitri thought and then said, "Well that would figure except ..." He turned to Harry his brows slightly drawn together in a mystified expression.

Harry had also been deliberating the endlessly shifting kaleidoscope of information, "Exactly Dimitri, why kidnap someone and then stake out their flat? Assuming the CIA are behind this why go to the bother of organising a break in? If they have Catherine they could have used her keys."

It was Jane who tentatively reminded him. "I thought you said it was because they were looking for something? So they needed to retrieve the laptop? Although I'd wonder about her keys as well."

Harry and the others pondered this knotty point before Harry growled, "Yes but if they found what they wanted why were they staking out your house? The only explanation is that they didn't find whatever they're after and thought Catherine might have passed it to you."

As if it were a tennis match Erin lobbed her query across the table, "If they wanted something and already had Catherine why rig up the bomb, especially that type? I can see the reason for destroying the flat but why set the front door to go up, it might not been Catherine who opened it. It could have been anyone."

Feeling both her shoulder and ankle throb simultaneously as a physical reminder of the previous evening Jane felt impelled to remark somewhat sharply, "Thanks for that. It wasn't anyone, it was me."

Erin wasn't pushed off her stride as she replied just as tartly, "I know, what I meant was that if they haven't got Catherine and if she was the target setting the door to go up it seems a bit random. If they do have her I assume that Catherine wouldn't be stupid enough stay silent if she was in danger so why bomb?" It was a question that turned Jane pale with horror. Harry knew Erin's comment was relevant but wished she'd been a little less direct in expressing it. Jane had experience of the damage torture, both mental and physical, could do to the human body. He'd collected more than one scar in the days when they'd shared a bed, not to mention his nightmares over Bill's death that had also disturbed her slumbers.

Before Harry could respond Dimitri started to sum up, "The primary aim of the bomb seems to have been to destroy the flat without damaging the entire property. If we assume that they didn't know that Catherine had been lifted perhaps they were more concerned to destroy what they thought was in the flat. She was the only one likely to be using a key at night so if she blew herself up opening the door, problem solved. If they got someone else by accident they weren't bothered about collateral damage as long as the flat went up. The internal bombs were timed in case she stayed out overnight in which event they could grab her later. So when they saw a woman they thought was Catherine open the door and get blown up with the flat they didn't hang around to check the facts."

Jane was beginning to think that the argument as to whether the chicken came before the egg sounded straightforward in comparison with the theories under discussion with regard to her vanishing daughter. Smoke and mirrors didn't even begin to describe it.

Harry had noticed the absence of input from his technical officer, "Anything further Calum?"

"Not at present, I'm running facial recognition checks. With what Jane's brought to the table I'll tweak the programme to concentrate on Americans known to be domiciled in England as the primary search target. I've also set a junior officer searching for more information on the car and owner. The DNA samples arrived from forensics. We matched Catherine's and Graham's from yours Harry and we're now checking others we can't discount against various databases for matches. Unfortunately it will take time."

Time, the one thing they might be running out of as Catherine had now been missing for over twenty four hours. Harry fought down the implications by seeking information relating to other parts of the jigsaw. "What do we know about the man who wound up in the Thames? "

Dimitri was ready that one, "Pretty much what the police said, small time crook, drug addicted, for sale to buyer. Professional execution although we await the final forensic report. My guess would be whoever wanted the laptop, which probably puts the CIA in the frame. Incidentally today was possibly not the first time they'd have had a sighting of Jane."

Jane who'd been trying to follow the various hares running around in dizzyingly metaphorical circles was startled into a sudden, "What! And when?"

"Remember what you told Harry last night?" Jane's main recollection was of nothing but noise and confusion as Dimitri prompted her, "About hearing a car drive away." Jane's eyes indicated a sudden dawning of memory. "Yes but..."

Dimitri began to explain, "I remembered Geek Boy here saying the CCTV was switched on at night. Even so we couldn't make out the registration of the car you thought you heard from Catherine's street, so I checked the corners around the time the bomb went off. The number plate is English but registered to an American national by the name of Wayne O'Docherty, - I think we can assume Irish ancestry - I've got some calls out to trace him." He paused for a moment and then said, "But the real payoff is that it was the same registration as the car that collected Garside's little chum this morning."

Calum, whose scowl indicated that he was less than gratified at the nickname endowed by Dimitri, took his revenge by cutting across Dimitri's moment of triumph to question one of his assumptions. "I can see why they thought the bombs had detonated inside the flat but why did they think they'd got Catherine? Dimitri instead of answering turned to Jane. "Would you mind standing by the screen for a moment?"

Jane thought her day was becoming increasingly bizarre. So far she'd been forced to dress in another woman's underwear, nearly been poisoned by coffee, had cried on Harry's shoulder, taken his side against Graham, all in addition to the minor matters of being blown up and then pursued by the CIA. Now to top it off she was required to parade herself as a superannuated mannequin in front of the cream of Section D. Standing as requested she became aware that an image suddenly displayed on the screen beside her was being greeted by an appreciative "Ah" from Erin and Calum as Dimitri elucidated: "Exactly. Jane is the same height as Catherine, more or less the same build and in the dark the difference in hair colour and age wouldn't be obvious. When they saw Jane hit the tarmac they didn't realise she was still alive, not with all the dust and rubble flying around and they wanted to get away quickly."

Harry felt quietly vindicated in his long standing opinion of the CIA's professional training. With exception of Jim Coaver he'd always found their field agents to be arrogant and inefficient. Any officer of his reappearing after such sloppy checking would have found themselves decommissioned with immediate effect. Not for the first time he was thankful for their stupidity, on this occasion it had almost certainly preserved Jane's life. In their position he'd have ensured that any surviving witness was taken out of circulation: permanantly.

Dimitri was finishing his piece, "So they probably concluded job done, go back to Grosvenor Square and crack open the champagne, Bourbon, extra strong Coke, or whatever they drink."

Erin broke in, "If they thought they had destroyed the flat and got Catherine why the other events of today?"

Harry had a ready answer, "That's not difficult to fathom. If I'd been in charge of that op I'd have sent someone to check in the morning and report back. Once they saw the building in daylight it would be clear that they'd rejoiced too soon. Frankly it's a puzzle. It all seems a bit amateur in part but smacks of professional contacts in others.

Dimitri added innocently. "That not difficult to fathom either, I suggest that the CIA don't know their arse from their elbow."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he searched for signs of parody. Erin not wanting to see Dimitri subjected to Harry's wrath hastened to interject, "Nothing new there then."

While everyone debated this part of the mystery Jane, who was still standing by the screen supporting her weigh on an increasingly wobbly ankle, decided it was time to reassert her existence, "Can I take my geriatric self back to my chair now and expire quietly?" Dimitri realising that he might have been less than tactful began to flounder, "Sorry Jane I didn't mean that you were old, just that...that ..." Harry who'd been following this exchange with quiet and, considering the circumstances, inappropriate amusement, came to his rescue, "Dimitri, remind me to give you a master class in Jane's sense of humour."

Jane, now restored to her seat smiled across at him, "It's okay Dimitri, I don't pretend to be thirty or even forty these days, any more than Harry would pretend he's Peter Pan. I may spend my money on something beginning with B but it's on books not Botox."

The unity of thought that had characterised the discussion was momentarily shattered by her attempt to reassure Dimitri.

The team were assailed by an instant vision of Harry clothed in green jerkin and tights soaring through the air without the assistance of a bomb, although somehow they couldn't see him trilling to the world with any great conviction that '_to die would_ _be an awfully big adventure'_. Not when most of his life had been spent trying to postpone that particular adventure for himself and others as long as possible. For a couple of days after Ruth's death they had worried about the possibility of Harry and suicide. Then they'd understood that Harry saw that option as a negation of Ruth's inadvertent sacrifice and that the best way he could honour her was to stay alive and remain with Section D.

Jane wondered whether she had unwittingly strayed into one of Harry's problems. He may have grown up, but had he moved on? She considered his words that morning about being trapped in the past. But which past was he trapped in, theirs or a more recent history? Previously when Harry had seemed troubled it had been specific, the aftermath of an operation turned grisly, a recognition that their family life had taken a downturn, but then with a few days and the aid of few drinks he'd bounced back. Now his troubles seemed deep seated. Personal tragedy or the cumulative effects of his age and job? This was the question she'd been asking herself ever since he'd materialised by her bedside in the hospital. She'd accepted his hospitality and care without vouchsafing her secrets to him, so did she have the right to invade the equally hidden parts of his life?

While she was pondering this Harry was considering her last sentence. "_True I thought our house would crash through the foundations with the weight of books, so if Laura was correct where are you storing them? If Graham was right why are you putting up with Robin?_'

Harry called them to mental order, "The key question seems to be why set the bomb after Catherine was lifted? That presumes that whoever set it didn't know that she'd been taken. It's the only solution to make any sense at present. That in turn implies that two groups are working on this but not together. Assuming Graham is correct it would suggest all the chief culprits are American."

What had his daughter been involved with? When he finally retrieved her, and Harry wasn't prepared at present to envisage any other alternative, he'd be torn between hugging the breath out of her or giving her a good shaking, the latter being an action he more usually contemplated in relation to her brother.

Having paused for a moment he continued on, "That completes the current questions, apart from trying to find a lead via whoever knew about the CCTV being switched off. I assume you've got a junior tracing this." Calum gave a nod of affirmation. "Very well. Then we concentrate on the man Graham described and Mr Wayne O'Docherty in the first instance but continue checking the other Intel at the same time as a fall back. I do understand Calum that this is a heavy workload."

Calum spoke up, "No problem with that Harry. I only wish we could track more accurately through the CCTV."

Jane was beginning to feel a little impatient with all these tangled threads that led into a fog. The spooks lack reaction to this made her suppose that such stumbling solutions were all in a normal day's work. If so she could only marvel at what an abnormal one must be like. For herself she wanted to howl at them to do something, but what? She shot a glance in Harry's direction, to a casual observer he seemed calm and unmoved, but as she sought his eyes in a plea she realised that they were haunted with worry. She could only pin her hope on the statements made to her today by two very different people, Erin and Graham, who had both affirmed that Harry was the best bet in the solve and protect stakes. It was apparent to her as she observed the way his staff were rallying around him that he had their respect and concern. It seemed to be mutual. With a start she recognised that in the absence of contact with his family Harry had compensated by treating his team as surrogates. That must have broken his heart on so many occasions. Even standing on the borders of his life Jane had grasped that any insurance company specialising in life cover for spooks would have bankrupted Lloyds within weeks.

Harry was indeed puzzled, but long experience suggested that when events seemed to be at their most confusing suddenly the final piece came into play and clarified everything. He could only hope that this would not be long delayed, he'd registered Jane's searching glance and at present had to admit that the whole episode seemed as murky at the Thames at flood tide. He also knew that his team was tired and that until the various checks yielded fruit the only game is town was waiting. Calum's last words though had reminded him of one loose thread.

"The tracker Robin planted. I know you said it had gone dead but when and where?"

Erin having been silent for the past few minutes now spoke. "We tracked it to some warehouses. The usual dives where the dubious are paid off. But nothing. Robin had slipped it into the guy's coat which we found on the ground. No sign of him or a struggle. Nothing from facial recognition. I think they found the tracker and made him change coats."

Harry's decision was instant, "We'll let Garside know that one person employed by this crew has been killed, that someone else is missing. Then tell him we'll give him overnight to consider coughing up otherwise we'll turn him out into the street."

Jane hissed, "But if you do that surely you lose a lead?"

Harry hurried to explain, "If he refuses to tell we can't force him, but it's amazing what the prospect of protection will do if you're in danger of being killed. They, whoever they are, won't believe he didn't talk." If anything Jane looked even more horrified, "You'd send him to his death?"

Harry decided to remind her that this was not a theoretical exercise as he replied with grim and definite determination. "If this is the best way to save Catherine yes, I would. In fact we'll be shadowing him so he'll be as safe as anyone ever is who involves themselves in this type of work."

The potential row was averted by the arrival of Laura creeping into the room to be greeted by a snapping Sir Harry, "Yes Laura."

"Sorry Sir but..." Everyone around the table groaned at the customary apology as Laura mumbled, "it's just I forgot that I'd picked up Mrs Townsend's mail." Jane's stare demanded an explanation. "It was just before the CIA turned up, I stuck it in my pocket and forgot. I'm really..."

"Yes, yes Laura we know, you're really sorry." Harry as he said it was deriving some amusement at Erin's expression which smacked of downright disapproval, although whether that was intended as a comment on Laura's entire existence, her forgetfulness, or the her toxic presence on the Grid he couldn't begin to guess. "Well you can make up for this by going with Dimitri and Jane tomorrow to play wing girl on the Reception security detail. I understand that you and Shakespeare are passing acquaintances."

Laura's face was beaming, "Yes Sir, thank you Sir."

"Oh and Laura now you've passed your probation try calling me Harry."

"Yes Sir,... er... Harry." Laura exited as if floating on cloud nine, or would have done had she not tripped over her feet at the doorway and gone crashing onto the corridor floor. Erin face suggested that she'd just been plunged into the umpteenth circle of Dante's vision of Hell at the prospect of Laura being involved in anything featuring Dimitri. Calum, having a fair idea as to what lay behind Laura's new expertise, looked abashed.

"Harry, is that a good idea. I mean..." Erin was about to express her displeasure when Jane who'd been perusing at her post let out a gasp.

Glad of the distraction Harry stared at her and asked testily, "What's wrong now Jane, an extra large gas bill?"

He wished he'd kept his lips sealed as Jane turned a shocked face to him, her eyes huge and frightened as she held out a postcard.

"Harry this card."

"So some lucky devil is on holiday? What of it?"

"No Harry – it's a plain card, postmarked yesterday and...and it's from Catherine.

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_** Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment**_.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Thanks to all those who read and even more thanks to those who reviewed. _**

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_Back to Catherine's Flat. Approx 6.30pm_

At Jane's announcement an involuntary gasp escaped the assembled spooks. Harry was the first to recover from the shock as he seized the proffered card from a dazed and trembling Jane. Turning it over in his hand he noticed, as he would have expected, that it was adorned with a first class stamp and a London postmark. Jane's address and the message were handwritten, from the appearance of the writing it seemed that it had been scrawled in haste. A chance afterthought perhaps? Harry squinted slightly in his attempt to decipher the words. As he read them aloud to the equally stunned audience he wasn't sure that they made sense.

_Dear Mum, Looking forward to seeing you in a couple of days, if I'm not around when you arrive Mr Snuggles has a message for you and Dad. Love Catherine._

Calum was the next to emerge from a stunned state as he ventured the obvious query. "Who exactly is Mr Snuggles – the Mr Man who ran away?"

Watching Jane shudder Erin was inclined to take Calum to task for inappropriate frivolity but was prevented by Harry commenting with touch of reproof: "Not quite how I would have phrased the question Calum but it needed asking." Turning to Jane he saw her biting her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears. "Please Jane – any suggestions as to the identity of Mr Snuggles."

Having struggled to conquer her own emotions Jane wondered how Harry was going to react to her reply. She was aware that the work persona he adopted had given rise to the popular belief that the Arctic wastes would melt more readily than the heart of Sir Harry Pearce, she'd encountered the permafrost herself on more than one occasion since their divorce, but she had also known a different Harry, the glimmers of whom had briefly surfaced during the past few hours**,** the Harry who in all matters pertaining to his daughter made a marshmallow look as tough as girder. Graham's accusations that Catherine was a Daddy's girl had been well founded. Taking a deep breath she answered him.

"Mr Snuggles was a present from you."

Harry's expression shifted from puzzled to dumbfounded. When he failed to respond Jane, with a sigh, expounded further.

"Remember when she was eight, the time you took both children on holiday for a week? Graham came back with a broken leg and Catherine with a teddy bear." Even at the remove of years her eyes glowed with annoyance at that memory.

Harry recalled the week well. For the first time since he and Jane had split up he'd had the children to himself. Aided by the gorgeously sunny weather, so rarely experienced in an English summer, he'd been relaxed and happy, able to give the children his full attention as they all scampered along the beach, buried each other in the sand, scoffed their own body weight in ice creams. During that all too brief time he'd fooled himself that despite the divorce he'd still remain a regular fixture in their lives; that he'd be able to maintain the hands on relationship he so desperately wanted**.** Then on the final day Graham had decided to show off and demonstrate how well he could climb a tree. Unfortunately at five years old his assessment of his skill had been overly optimistic, flushed with excitement he'd pressed his full weight on a rotten branch and his impersonation of Tarzan had ended with his being sent tumbling to the ground in a flurry of leaves and broken twigs, collecting a mild concussion and a snapped femur along the way. The final few hours of their holiday had been spent not in having fun scrambling amidst rock pools and sea cut caves but in the subdued surroundings of the local A&E unit. Awaiting the return of Graham from the plaster room Harry, in an attempt to keep Catherine amused, had taken her into the hospital shop where she'd fallen in love with a small furry brown teddy bear. Wanting to cheer her up Harry had bought it for her. Until Jane's reminder his memory of that purchase had been banished, blotted out by Jane's reaction when she'd caught sight of Graham's holiday souvenir. '_I knew you couldn't be trusted with a pet hamster, let alone my children. Other women get potted plants, I get a potted child_.' Faced with that opening statement he'd shut his eyes, closed his mouth and thought of England while the subsequent tirade raged over him.

He still didn't quite see the connection between that week and the postcard. With a sharpness that reflected his worry he snapped. "Jane could you avoid referring to all our yesterdays in vague terms and be more specific?"

"Yes well I can see why you don't want that particular yesterday recalled. The teddy bear, Catherine called it Mr Snuggles, she still has it. He's a bit threadbare and been restuffed a couple of times but she's always refused to part with him. I noticed him sitting on her bed today."

Harry swivelled his entire body round, ostensibly to read the card again under a better light, but in reality to hide the sudden quivering of his chin. Over all those years, when Catherine had hated him for ordering Tom Quinn to drug and drag her out of Iran, interfering with her freedom of choice she and Jane had called it, when she'd loathed him to the point of telling Danny Hunter that her father was dead, she'd clung onto that teddy bear. A lingering memory of happy times before their increasing estrangement or a symbol that deep down she'd hoped for an eventual reconciliation even while she rejected his efforts at contact? They had come a long way since those days of mutual silence and now, judging from the scribbled postcard, she was relying upon him to ride to her rescue. Of course he would. From the moment Jane had announced she was pregnant he'd vowed to be a good father. He'd been unable to keep that promise. He had failed his daughter in so often and in so many ways, some avoidable, such as his foolishness in destroying his marriage, some not, such as the demands of his job combined with the machinations of Jane and Robin. All of which had simply made him the more determined to not to let her down now when she needed him**. **

Features firmly concreted to impassive he turned back to address his team.

"This postcard tells us two things. Firstly Catherine thought she was at some risk and secondly that it came from someone who could trace and or hack into mobile phones. She knew Jane was due to visit so she sent it as a precaution."

Jane was privately heaving a sigh of gratitude that Harry had, with his customary arrogance, overridden her objections when insisting that she returned home to collect her clothes. Without that unscheduled intervention the clue on the doormat would have fallen into the hands of either the CIA or Robin and been lost to them forever. The CIA would have stolen it, Robin having seen the oblique reference to Harry would, without hesitation, have destroyed it. If her relief showed in her face Harry, the usually all seeing, hadn't noticed. Turning the card over and over in his hands as if he was reluctant to part with something handled so recently by their daughter he seemed trapped in a trance like state as he considered their options. No one dared interrupt his reverie by speaking but when Erin gave a gentle wriggle, that may have an eagerness to move forward, the action must have registered with Harry.

Recalled to his surroundings he decided his most immediate priority was to get his hands on Mr Snuggles. Placing the card gently on the table he began to issue his instructions.

"Dimitri we need to retrieve that teddy bear. Ring whoever is on watch duty and let them know that we're on our way. Erin and Calum you have your tasks, Jane I've pulled out some basic details about the Reception which I suggest you look at, Dimitri will give you more Intel when we return."

Recognising that speed was essential Dimitri disappeared to obey orders. Harry, desperate to set off, was less than pleased when the others failed to follow his example. Most individuals would have quailed under the gaze Harry was casting in their direction. It was a clear directive that they should absent themselves. Unfortunately for Harry they were all to some extent immune, Jane had rarely been intimidated by his thunderous expressions while Calum and Erin had not survived this long as members of Harry's senior team without developing an invisible Teflon overcoat. While none of them were impervious to the hints he was throwing out they all had something to say and so stood their ground in the face of Harry's bristling impatience.

Calum opted to get in first before Harry exploded. "Harry, is Malcolm taking over Tariq's old desk – I believe it was originally his."

Grateful as Harry was for an enquiry that did not revolve around his family affairs he was slightly irritated at the waste of time as he answered harshly, "Yes, what about it?"

The tone was ominous but achieved its intent of making Calum decide to be quick. "As I can't do much until the various checks finish running I thought I'd set up the computer with the updated software and prepare some information to get Malcolm up to speed." He suddenly realised that he might be implying that Malcolm was a useless geriatric and hastened on," not that I'm suggesting..."

Harry completed the sentence for him, "That Malcolm is out of date. Thank you Calum. I'm sure he'll appreciate your thoughtfulness, although knowing Malcolm he's probably more up to speed than any of us can guess at."

Calum gave an appreciative grin, "I take it I don't ask how." He saw an answering twinkle in Harry's eyes and decided to emulate Dimitri and melt away before Erin could voice whatever objections were lingering on the tip of her tongue, thankful as he did so that the age of chivalry had long since been trumped by the age of equality.

As Calum departed leaving the two women to tough it out he heard Harry rasp, "And then there were two." Before Erin could open her mouth he added, "Don't say it Erin, I'll be with Dimitri and I'm taking a gun."

Erin didn't get the chance to dispute as Jane stood up saying, "I'm coming with you." Harry, thoroughly distracted from Erin replied very positively, 'No you are not." Confronted by the Grid version of the monstrous regiment of women pinning him to the spot with blazing eyes and preparing to argue until dawn Harry's inner John Knox began roaring for release, giving him a sudden insight into the possibility that the Scottish divine was not the misogynist depicted in the history books but instead a much misunderstood man who had finally been pushed beyond his tolerance limit by endless disputes with feisty females.

Harry didn't have time to write a politically incorrect pamphlet promulgating this controversial theory, he had to rely on persuasion, otherwise Jane was quite capable of storming off the Grid and pursuing the spooks in a taxi, with dire consequences for her safety and their cover. "Jane, I know what the bear looks like and you're dropping with exhaustion. Please, I want you to be safe and you need to rest."

"Huh just like you are. Harry get your head around the fact that I'm not prepared to sit around being as useless a Christmas decoration in high summer."

"Given how early Christmas arrives these days you could have chosen a better simile. The answer is still no."

Jane recognised the finality in his voice but wasn't about to give in. Her intention to argue was halted by Erin's voice cutting into the momentary pause. "Actually Jane that's roughly what I wanted to talk to Harry about." Dragged away from their private quarrel both turned to stare at her. Harry indicated that she was to continue with one word. "Well?"

"Harry you know it's standard procedure to check with family and friends."

Harry's anxiety to get off the Grid and into Catherine's flat was beginning to exceed his courtesy. "Erin I wrote most of the bloody procedures, get on with it."

"Well we don't have Catherine's phone but you did bring back her address book and ...I wondered if it would be a job for Jane. She'd be the best person to do the concerned mother act." Erin winced as she realised the tactless inference. "I meant that because Jane is concerned and is Catherine's mother she'll sound convincing with the bonus that she knows who's family, who might be a friend, etcetera." '_And it will keep her out of our hair and avoid us being privy to any more embarrassing details about your dysfunctional family.'_

Harry rubbed his hand over his face as he considered the merits of this proposition before swinging around to face Jane, "It's a sensible suggestion Jane. The only problem with it is that unlike my staff you're not trained to listen for lies and half truths."

He was rewarded with a sarcastic smile diluted with a few drops of patronage. "Harry, have you slightest notion as to how many total fibs I decode during the course of every working day without, I may add, the benefit of lie detectors or truth drugs. After years of fathoming the half truths told by your average teenager most teachers could give MI5 a run for their money. Overall I think it qualifies as transferable skill."

Harry was grateful that at least she'd stopped short of talking up her skills CV by referring to the plentiful practise she'd obtained during the downwards spiral of their marriage. He did however feel a need to remind her, "Whatever you do don't say that Catherine is missing. Your cue is you arrived early, she's not there and you're worried. You don't give information. You get it."

"Okay I know, open questions to make them expand, closed to get a definite answer, don't lead and listen for hesitations, things that don't stack up and don't comment beyond the necessary to keep them talking." The slight look of surprise they gave made her add, "Experience as detailed plus child protection training, I don't work in a world entirely dedicated to deconstructing the elegancies of Jane Austen and Shakespeare's comedies."

Harry's inward thoughts ran along the lines of '_Typical teacher. The entire world is her classroom'_ but at least Erin's intervention had provided them with a win win scenario. He kept Jane on the Grid and she got to do something useful. Acknowledging his acceptance of the plan he nodded, "Fine, find her a desk and phone Erin, one without the background noise of the office. And Jane when you've finished Erin is taking you on a visit to the Duty Doctor." He awaited the inevitable protest and was not disappointed as Jane proceeded to insist that she was fine, he was fussing unnecessarily, she hated doctors and it wasn't any of his business anyway.

"Jane the assertion that you hate doctors is vaguely true. You are not fine, I don't like the way you're moving on that ankle and with the speed Laura drove you back here at I'm prepared to guess that your ribs and shoulder were both badly jolted. So yes I am fussing and while you are on the Grid and under my roof your health is my business."

Placed in a position that made it difficult to argue did not faze Jane but as she prepared to refute his final claims she was completely disarmed by the soft look in his eyes as he said, "Please Jane I neglected you in the past, I know I can never atone for that but don't deny me the chance to try."

What could she say? She knew that Harry's cajoling ways included a deliberate use of charm when required, but she also recognised truthfulness when she heard it. How could she contradict him when he was making it so plain that he cared about her as a person, not a designer accessory? Nor could she deny that he was right. Having stubbornly rejected the option of painkillers she was aware of several acute aches combining with an ominously throbbing ankle. Jane gulped with shock at the realisation that once again he'd managed to corral her into an inarguable corner through an emotional sincerity that was indistinguishable from emotional blackmail. It was a master class in manipulation. No wonder he was the best in the business, she knew the pitfalls better than anyone and had still been persuaded to fall in with his requests. How did he do it? More importantly would she ever ever avoid walking into the traps he so cunningly baited? Somehow she doubted it. If she hadn't learnt by now she never would.

Seeing him still waiting with a well controlled testiness she replied as firmly as she could. "Very well Harry when you put it that way how can I refuse." Followed a half amazed," I just can't believe, given our history, how much I'm agreeing with you."

"I'm sure once the current crisis is over you'll manage to divest yourself of the unfortunate habit."

His rejoinder was delivered lightly but Jane thought she detected a real yearning for the opposite in his voice. What was going on between them at present? And would it be wise of her to analyse it? Later. For now she had a job to do, "Well if that's settled Harry I'd better get dialling. Erin lead me to a phone, I just hope that I don't get laryngitis on top of my other injuries."

If she thought she'd had the last word she was disappointed as Harry commented, "Neither do I, just think how much I'd miss your stimulating conversation." He'd intended his remark as a trifling piece of sarcasm but suddenly realised it that was the reality**.**

Watching Jane limp out of the room accompanied by Erin Harry wondered what was going on between them. And was it wise to analyse it? Unconsciously, because it was what he always did, he decided on think about this later, for now he had a job to do. Right, could he possibly get into his his office without further delay to prepare for the essentials of this mission? He needed to lose the tie, change his coat, collect the gun that he'd not signed back in and get down to the garage without further interruption. By now Dimitri should have commandeered a car and be sitting in the driver's seat revved up and ready to go.

He'd just reached the door of the Briefing Room when Calum reappeared. By now Harry's impatience was written across his face. "Is your passport up to date Calum?"

Risking the storm Calum apologised quickly, "Sorry. Unusable due to the picture. It doesn't show my best side."

"You'll be even more unrecognisable if this isn't important."

"I just wanted to ask. Do you want me to try to find out what happened at Jane's house after Laura got them away? Perhaps we should confirm that it was the CIA staking her out."

"It could be useful. Thanks Calum. Now can I go?"

Answer came there none but the picture of Calum vanishing computerwards was worth a thousand words, or in these inflationary times a hundred. Harry began his progress across the Grid only to be accosted once more by Erin.

"Sorry Harry but there is some paperwork on your desk that needs to be signed off."

Harry bit back his irritation at being held up yet again, as he struggled to remind himself that Erin was only doing her job. The Section did have had other ongoing operations which required supervision, even the midst of the priority given to his blended professional and personal concerns.

"Fine I'll check it and sign it off when I return. But we must get that teddy bear. This isn't just personal to me Erin. If the CIA are involved this smacks of international issues."

Glancing across the Grid at Jane who was seated at a desk talking animatedly into a phone while simultaneously making notes he felt a need to ask, "How's she doing Erin?"

"Well judging by what I overheard on the first call if I didn't know otherwise I'd think she'd been in the Service. I don't suppose she was recruited without your knowing?

Harry nearly laughed outright at that suggestion. The many vituperative comments Jane had made over the years about the '_bloody Queen and country'_ running through his mind. "Hardly Erin, she always hated the Service for what it did to us and Jane isn't an '_if you can't beat them join them'_ temperament'.

The thought occurred to Erin that Catherine might have taken after both parents. Jane had claimed Catherine was her father's daughter but it seemed to Erin that she may well have inherited a double dose of stubbornness combined with crusading spirit. Harry fought for the state and Jane for education. It explained to some degree Catherine's career choice. Graham it would seem had just inherited the stubbornness without any charm or sense of mission to offset it.

Harry unaware of her theories insisted, "If you've finished Erin I really need to go. Please keep an eye on Jane. If she seems wobbly I don't care what she says, get her to a medic. It's an order. And no more hold ups for me. That's also an order."

With that he dived into his office divesting himself of tie and suit jacket as he went. He didn't have time to change completely but reckoned that in the dark the mismatch of Savile Row trousers and casual jacket would not be tremendously obvious. Surely by now even the imbeciles employed by the CIA had realised that they were battling MI5. Whether they'd also finally twigged that the flat occupant they were tracking was the daughter of the loathed head of Section D, the man one disgruntled operative had reportedly designated as "_Harry effing Houdini_" when the sought after extradition had been cancelled was less certain. Jim Coaver would have known, but then Jim would never have authorised such a bungled operation in the first place. Deep down in his guts Harry felt as responsible for Jim's death as he did for Ruth's, although that didn't mean that he was about to accept for a second time the role of sacrificial lamb regarding the renewed threat of forcible removal to Uncle Sam. He'd only agreed to go quietly in the aftermath of Jim's murder on condition that the partnership was signed immediately. In strict terms he had no case to answer but in practice that wouldn't matter to the CIA for whom the accusation provided a convenient hook with which to first catch him and then extract, by whatever means they thought justified, the kernel of the many secrets he carried. Secrets, which once revealed, could do untold damage to his country's security. Harry had no illusions about his likely treatment, or his eventual ability to hold out against increasingly extreme torture. As Mani had very kindly reminded him on the day Ruth had been forcibly repatriated from Cyprus _'everyone breaks eventually.'_ Grabbing the gun he'd so reprehensibly retained he headed out of the office. He'd worry about Langley's plans for him later, for now his main concern was to remain within England's shores until he'd rescued his daughter from whatever dangers her questing nature had placed her in.

Having evaded any further distraction Harry practically ran down to the garage and within a few minutes was being driven by Dimitri towards his daughter's flat for the second time that day. It fell to Dimitri to open the conversation.

"Harry. I know you like to play your cards close to your chest but have you any idea at all about what Catherine's been involved with?"

Dimitri hadn't meant to sound critical or exasperated but Harry, being sensitive on the subject of his family failings, gave him a hard look before answering. "Not really. If I had to guess I'd plump for if it being something to do with her work. Jane was right about the risks she runs. Her programme on forced marriage may have been a critical success but it came accompanied by death threats."

"God, that was one of hers!" Recalling the documentary's very definite conclusions Dimitri realised why Harry was terrified for his daughter. "I can understand why you might prefer her to make a programme about fluffy animals." His boss gave a snort before saying with a hint of reluctant pride**,** "If she did you can bet that she'd upset either the animal rights lobby or the hunting shooting and science brigade."

After that a companionable silence fell between them, broken only when they reached their destination**. **Dimitri pulled up outside and stepped out, acknowledging the spook disguised as a policeman who was guarding the still open entrance to the flats. The officer on duty straightened up even more briskly when he glimpsed the person accompanying Dimitri. Harry as he approached asked, "Any trouble."

"None that you'd notice but.." He was aware of Harry staring at him and his mouth dried up for a moment before he continued, "the same man seems to have driven past three times today, always in a different car." Harry's eyes narrowed, "I take it that you are not implying that he's a car dealer." The spook nodded, "Not when he was also walking down the street twice, but in different clothes. I've sent the car registrations and a picture of him to the Grid. Sir." Harry ignored the belated salutation as he hissed, "No chance he got into the flat I suppose."

"None Sir, I took the liberty of rigging up a buzzer on the back door and all the windows. Plus a camera feed to here." Looking down Harry saw a small tablet computer screen in the spook's hand. He smiled "Good man, Jason isn't it? I didn't realise you were a technical expert."

"Hobby Sir."

"And a man of few words. Well done but can you turn this off for a few minutes? You can switch it back on when we leave." With that, not waiting to see if the youngster did as requested, Harry walked towards the main door of the flat. With a few expert turns of his picklock he was once again back in his daughter's sitting room.

The flat was exactly as Harry had left it, which suggested that the boast of his officer was accurate. When all this was over with Harry thought he'd have to check the file of that young spook. With his technical skills and initiative he was being seriously underused. First Laura surprising him and now Jason, hope for the service when he finally retired? The young pretenders would have to wait a while, at present he was still in a post that he had no intention of quitting voluntarily. His current task: Operation Mr Snuggles. Remembering Jane's words he headed for the bedroom. Sure enough battered, lumpy and looking distinctly worse for wear the bear sat resplendent on Catherine's pillow. Picking it up Harry wondered if he'd worn any better than the toy. He was nearly as bald and at least the bear had fulfilled its mission in life and nearly been cuddled to death by his daughter. It was more than Harry could boast. When in fact had anyone last given him a hug? Feeling the threadbare exterior carefully his fingers made contact with a lump that seemed harder than the rest of the body, impacted stuffing or something else entirely? Before he could investigate further he was recalled into the main sitting room by Dimitri's voice.

"Harry, Catherine's answer machine has a call on it. It's come in since we left with Graham."

Harry moved to the machine and pressed the play button. At once the recording reverberated into the room playing back the angry staccato tones of a male voice.

"_Jane. I know you're there so pick up. You should be here. You know how important tonight is for me you ungrateful bitch. I don't know what's wrong with you these days but it stops now. After supporting you and the spawn from that little Hitler you were married too the least I can expect is your loyalty. Get on a train and back here or there will be consequences, starting with my contacting your current school to say that you're under investigation after leaving your last job under a cloud. For once in your selfish life put someone else first." _

Dimitri thought he'd seen Harry at his raging worst on several occasions. He now knew he'd been mistaken. Harry's normally chubby features had hardened into something akin to a whitened mask, unfixed, unmoving except for two small anger darkened eyes boring into the wall opposite containing an expression of unadulterated fury mixed with contempt. He seemed to be in a world of his own in which nothing mattered beyond revenge. Watching Harry stroking his gun with a distinct air of menace Dimitri was relieved that Robin was safely ensconced in the martial home, otherwise some lucky person might have been tasked with removing a second corpse from Catherine's flat**.** He recalled Harry to his presence with a slight cough.

Looking around Harry remembered where he was. "Dimitri I'm going to record the message to play back to Jane but I'd be grateful if you didn't mention this to anyone else."

"I believe my cue is to say remember what. I won't talk Harry but I did find out..."

Harry held up a hand to halt him. "Dimitri I need Jane to tell me herself. The problem is I don't think she really trusts me." At the sight of Dimitri's concerned face he continued ruefully, "And objectively considering the hell I put her though when we were married I can't blame her."

Dimitri was amazed that the notoriously reticent Harry had confided even that general statement. He wasn't sure if it was owing to shock or an oblique cry for help. Cautiously he suggested, "Maybe she doesn't trust you Harry but are you really going to allow her walk back to someone who is blackmailing her in such a disgusting way?" Seeing that he had Harry's attention he gave what he hoped wasn't intrusive advice. "Perhaps you need to trust her first Harry." Treading even more delicately he finished, "I don't mean about well ...recent events but .." he concluded lamely, "just something."

To win trust you had to give it first. It sounded so easy and for most people it was, but Harry was not most people. He was a spy, a keeper of state secrets. For him trust was co-joined with a Siamese twin called betrayal. It had become a coin which, when flipped, had all too often revealed not the bland sculpture of the monarch's head, the symbol of all he served, but instead the unveiled countenances of Juliet, Connie, Nicholas Blake, Lucas, Elena all spitting malevolently in his face while deriding him as a foolish clown for his unswerving loyalty to a failing state. Since Ruth's death he had been unable to look at anyone without sensing that poison worm of doubt wriggling through virutally each and every relationship. And how far could he trust Jane? With their daughter's life at stake he could rely on her not to prejudice the current operation. He also believed her earlier assertion that she had remained tongue locked regarding the degrading details of their marriage, but the fact remained that she was married, and seemingly in thrall, to a man Harry detested. If her relationship with Robin the Smug was truly in tatters why hadn't she confided in him? Fear of seeing him triumphant? Surely she knew him well enough to know that he would never gloat over seeing her in such abject misery. Shame then: shame for her actions in alienating the children from him, shame for taking Robin's side now that the golden headmaster she'd eulogised had proved to be a man of dross, a prat on a plinth. Didn't she realise that few things in life would give Harry more pleasure than the chance to emulate a pigeon and crap from a great height over Robin's hyper inflated head. Yea Gods! Harry in his hatred for the man would even consider submitting himself to the indignity of a powerful enema if that ensured he made a thorough job of it, in every sense of the phrase. At present all Harry knew for certain was that he was standing at a crossroads, the place traditionally associated with the burial of suicides. The metaphor was apt, one incautious, unwise statement and his chance of establishing amicable future terms with Jane would be killed forever.

It was time to leave. With Mr Snuggles living up to his name in Harry's inner coat pocket the two men moved towards the sitting room door**. **Just as Dimitri reached out to grab the knob Harry became aware of a scrabbling noise at the rear of the flat, followed by a sudden click as the back door lock was released. Some person or persons unknown were seeking entry via the kitchen. Two minds, one thought. Dimitri instantly switched off the light as they both crept to position themselves on either side of the kitchen door. Breath held and guns grasped ready for action they stood as motionless as oversize ornaments watching as very slowly and carefully the door gently opened allowing a single figure to slink into the darkness of the room. Outlined against the minimal illumination coming in from the street lighting that filtered through the half closed blinds the intruder appeared to be male. Judging by the silence emanating from the kitchen this was a solo raid. As stranger moved forward into the room he suddenly felt the welcoming pressure of cold metal against the back of his neck as Harry uttered in tones that had frozen the marrow of his enemies for the past three decades.

"Drop your gun or have your head blown off. You have two seconds to make your choice starting from now."

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**_Thanks for reading. If you have a moment please review. _**


	19. Chapter 19

_**Many thanks to those who read. Even greater thanks to those who reviewed. **_

* * *

_The Grid Again approx 8.00pm_

As Harry uttered these words his spare hand was fumbling along the wall, searching for the light switch. His eventual success in locating it signalled by a sudden flood of illumination that made all three of the room's occupants blink. The intruder, whose familiarity with night manoeuvres was proclaimed by his being clothed in deepest black from the crown of his balaclaved head to the tips of his trainer clad feet, decided to take advantage of the shock as he sprang forward in a desperate attempt to escape. This effort to wrong foot his captors proved unwise as both spooks had second guessed his likely reaction. Working in unplanned unison Dimitri tripped him up from behind at exactly the same moment that Harry brought the hand containing the gun crashing down upon the guilty party's skull. Unsurprisingly the stranger crumpled under the pressure of this double assault and was sent sprawling onto the ground, the carpeted floor muffling the gratifying sound of a crunched nose. Harry waited for a few seconds, prepared to shoot if there was any sign of violent movement. When no flicker of activity was forthcoming he checked that the uninvited visitor wasn't faking unconsciousness by kicking his prone body firmly in the ribs. Reaction came there none. Dimitri, who was also poised with his gun pointing at their victim, moved upon Harry's nodded indication that he wanted the man turned over. Easing their battered quarry onto his back Dimitri leaned across him and with a practised hand stripped off the concealing headgear.

Harry had hoped that they might have been able to recognise the man from their slowly gathered Intel but frustratingly, even taking into account the facial damage, he could see that this was not the person who had hailed Catherine and then driven her away to where exactly? The figure lying supine at his feet was older and also darker in both hair and complexion than the image Calum had so painstakingly created. Sadly neither was it Robin come to drag a renegade Jane back to his lair. Harry's regret at Robin's absence was tempered by the thought that at least he would have more opportunity to savour the delayed gratification involved in arranging his supplanter's downfall. The mills of Harry Pearce, even at their most negligent, made the output of the mills of God look like boulders in comparison.

The noise of the struggle had alerted the disguised spook who was still staunchly guarding the communal entrance to the flats. Bursting into the room with his gun at the ready Jason immediately felt somewhat embarrassed. How could he ever have assumed that Sir Harry was incapable of dealing with a house breaker? Everyone knew that despite being desk bound for most of his working days the Head of Section D remained a class act on the rare occasions he ventured into the field. Harry however gave no sign of taking offence as he acknowledged the new presence.

"Ah Jason. Good to see you so alert. Tell me is this.." he gestured contemptuously towards the now slightly stirring individual on the floor, "the quick change artiste you saw earlier today."

Jason moving slowly forward, viewed the man from a number of different angles. After a long thoughtful pause he replied, "Yes Sir, although the all in black look is a little different from his earlier outfits."

"And you last noticed him?"

"About an hour ago Sir. He was driving down the road looking about him."

Harry processed this statement before asking Dimitri. "Can you go down to the parking area at the back and see if there's a car waiting?" As Dimitri vanished the figure on the floor began to whimper quietly, the precursor to returning to full consciousness. Turning to his remaining officer Harry inquired, "Do you have any handcuffs with that outfit? If so please practice your skills in using them."

Jason didn't need to be told twice as he extricated the cuffs from his pocket and bent down to shackle the intruder. As he did so he sent up a quick prayer that the man wouldn't recover sufficiently to make another vainglorious attempt to abscond while Sir Harry still had his gun trained on the pair of them. Jason knew that Harry was probably an excellent shot, his very survival proved that, but even the best could have an off day and he didn't fancy the consequences of a misfire. To Jason's relief the prisoner was still too dazed to do much more than groan while he was safely secured as per Harry's instructions. Jason was just nerving himself to ask Harry if he had any further orders when Dimitri returned, annoyance stamped across his features as he re-entered the room.

"Sorry Harry. Someone was waiting but they sped off as soon as they saw me."

"It must be your scary appearance Dimitri. Can you check this article for any id? Jason, you might need to hold him up for Dimitri to get at his pockets." Heaving around a body that was very nearly a dead weight took the pair of them a few minutes but yielded nothing of interest, other than a distinct lack of documentation, meaning that for practical purposes the man in black might just as well have been the invisible man. Realistically Harry hadn't expected anything else so he merely glared menacingly at the still moaning figure.

Looking a little more closely at their prisoner's face Dimitri felt obliged to advise his boss, "I think his nose is broken."

Harry didn't seem much concerned by this piece of information, "Perhaps he'll think twice about sticking it into MI5's business in the future." Giving the man a second exploratory poke with his foot Harry's next words revealed his age, harking back as they did to an earlier pre politically correct era.

"Unfortunately much as I'd like to give him some further TLC in our cells our hands are bound by the Human Rights lobby. Which means giving him medical attention as opposed to ensuring that he needs it."

Turning to Jason, who was standing around uncertainly wondering whether or not he should return to his post, Harry barked, "Jason please ring the Grid and tell them that we've been held up. I'll need two officers to guard this piece of useless scum while he holidays in the local A&E. Dimitri and I will take him there."

Jason disappeared but judging by the sound of his footsteps he had headed into the bathroom. Not knowing how long he'd been standing outside v his personal liquid intake neither Harry nor Dimitri thought anything of this until Jason re-materialised beside them thrusting a wad of toilet paper into Dimitri's hand. As Harry's eyebrows drew together threateningly Jason hurried to explain his slightly strange actions.

"I noticed that this bloke, whoever he is, seems to bleeding from his nose and head." After a quick pause he continued, "I thought your daughter might not want blood on her carpet, Sir."

Harry's fierce expression transformed into something approximating to a smile at the realisation that his young officer possessed an excellent set of priorities. Meanwhile Dimitri, as a curtain raiser to moving the mystery man, began plastering that individual's head and nose with what the advertisements coyly referred to as toilet tissue. If their unwanted guest had previously resembled a stick of battered liquorice the tasteful addition of yellow strips of bog roll had now converted his appearance into that of a maladjusted wasp.

As they prepared to move their victim Harry issued his final instruction before departing, "Jason I think we've found the item this charmer was after but whoever sent him won't know that. They will realise that he's been taken but as they seem to be getting increasingly desperate put your alarm system back on for now. And well done."

Watching Jason glow slightly under the praise issuing from their notoriously grouchy boss Dimitri was reminded yet again as to why the Section D staff put up with Harry and the package that enfolded him, the secrecy, the temper and the maverick actions. While the majority of those encountering him outside the internal environs of Section D believed that the ice cold, sharp tongued persona he presented to the world was the real Harry Pearce those who worked for him on a daily basis knew differently. They had all learnt one by one, slowly and sometimes through tragedy, that the exterior shell was a carefully nurtured facade hiding the real Harry, a far more complicated individual than his reputation implied, sarcastic certainly, devious undoubtedly, ruthless when necessary but also fiercely protective of his department's status and the staff under his command. A man of honour in a profession dedicated to the commitment of disreputable deeds**.** A man who had given nearly everything of himself to his job without expecting a return. An establishment figure who was thorn in the flesh of the establishment. A knight of the realm who avoided using the title, but would without hesitation ride forward on a metaphorical white charger to rescue anyone of them from danger. Dimitri was the sole person still on the Grid to remember the calm, matter of fact air with which Harry had walked towards the pods on the first stage of his journey to meet Lucas and certain death. His definite declaration that it was '_my turn_' made in the belief that the alternative was to allow a vengeful, out of control Lucas to carry out his threat to detonate a bomb with the potential to kill hundreds. If Harry would give his life to save any one of his team or the anonymous public how much more would he do for his unforgiving family? Dimitri would have shuddered for the hapless Robin had he not been privy to that appalling message which, despite Harry's instructions, he found impossible to forget. Dimitri wasn't naive, he could appreciate that living with Jane might be challenging and combative to say the least, but thinking over his own delicately developing relationship with Erin would he ever want to blackmail her into staying with him? What kind of man would consider that to be acceptable, other than a complete and utter turd? Further speculations were halted by Harry's snapping,

"Dimitri, could you lend a hand or possibly an arm? We need to get this to the hospital."

Summoned to reality Dimitri grabbed one side of Mr Nobody while Harry took the other shoulder as they dragged him, none too gently through the sitting room and down the path. The trailing of his legs and feet along the concrete producing a few protests which rose to a crescendo as they stuffed him into the car with more speed than care. Remembering that his previous departure from the premises had also included hustling the loveable Graham into a vehicle Dimitri decided that he never ever wanted to see Catherine's flat again. He didn't think his muscles could take the strain.

* * *

Erin when she received the call first actioned Harry's commands and then rang her mother to inform her that it would be yet another late night on the Grid. On evenings like this she wondered if she was lucky to have achieved her career goal of working in Section D. On the plus side it was well know that anyone who survived coping with Harry, or survived full stop, was skilled, efficient and capable of dealing with just about anything the Service threw in their path. The downside, especially in her position, were the long hours and the mortality rate. The fate of her four immediate predecessors wasn't guaranteed to cheer her up either: two had been blown to atoms, one had quit after a breakdown and previous occupant, whose undisclosed personal history was the direct reason for her appointment, had turned traitor and killed himself. To compound her worries one of those officers had also been a single parent. With a young daughter to consider she did occasionally null over the option of putting her ambition on hold for a few years and requesting a transfer. As she had become more deeply involved in Section D she had begun to think that her declaration to Harry that it was possible to be a spy and maintain what outsiders would consider to be a normal personal life had been a trifle hasty. Since she'd disagreed with his warning Tariq and Ruth had died, and Rosie had been held to ransom. And then there was the Dimitri shaped complication. Sure she was fond of him, but it was well known that the attrition rate for relationships in spying circles was high. Become involved with someone inside the Service who understood its requirements and the chances were one of you would be killed or maimed; become involved with an outsider and they simply couldn't comprehend the demands of your working life and the toll it took on your psyche. She'd spent much of today listening to the alarming example set by Harry and Jane, a couple who must have seemed well matched at the outset but had been driven apart by the demands of the Service. Or had they? For Harry the involvement with Elena may well have begun as a honey-trap that included sex as duty, '_I'll bet he enjoyed his work though'_ but Erin had heard the rumours concerning other extra marital involvements. But then rumours were precisely that, something easily started, prone to exaggeration and believed even when fabricated; many a successful operation had hinged upon that gullible fact. Only the couple themselves really knew why their wedding rings had been smelted in the furnace of the divorce courts and both parties were maintaining a praiseworthy reticence on the subject, for which she as Section Chief was grateful. The need to undertake a further damage limitation exercise stemming from Harry's private life she could definitely do without. Even for a person who told lies for a living the fiction she'd been obliged to peddle to a disbelieving CIA and an equally cynical Towers post Thames estuary had pushed her to her limit. A consideration that didn't prevent her from wondering as to Jane's reaction if she ever discovered the truth about Harry, Ruth and Elena. A bizarre triangle connected with angles bearing the ominous names of Ilya, Sasha and Coaver.

Pursuing this train of thought she suddenly became aware that silence had fallen from the desk which she had allocated to Jane. For the past hour Jane's clarion tones had formed the background noise to whatever work Erin was performing. Looking across the Grid she saw Jane now sitting with a notepad and pencil in hand scribbling away. Scrawling her own name across yet another report destined for the mountain of paperwork festering on Harry's desk Erin recalled his parting orders. Knowing Harry she'd have to find a good excuse for her failure to get Jane to the medical suite. Easing herself out of her chair she wandered over to Jane asking quietly.

"Did you find anything useful?"

Jane, absorbed in a self imposed task, jumped at the sound of Erin's voice.

"Sorry Erin I was concentrating. I'm not sure about the use of anything I've found out. I'm just trying to put together a time and place line from what various contacts said. I thought it might help Calum or whoever is tasked with checking her recent movements."

"And?"

"A number of her friends have been a little worried, said she seemed abstracted although as one phrased it '_That's normal when she's trying to put together a production_.' I also managed to contact someone who she'd recently pitched an idea to. Catherine refused to be explicit as she was still getting the information she needed from another source. He thought she was cagey but added that that's also normal in their world. Fear of betraying sources or that someone pinches your idea." She saw Erin smiling wryly and added, "Go on say it."

"Doesn't sound unlike her father's working life."

Jane slumped back in her chair as she said wearily, "Ironical isn't it. I spent years trying to prevent the children seeing him as an exciting hero, I was so afraid for them and I'm not proud of what I did in the pursuit of that. I only realised years later that Harry was as anxious as I was that they didn't copy him. And then Catherine began to endlessly walk into danger zones needing Harry's help."

"I doubt he grudges it Jane. Although I'm sure he'd prefer it not to be Catherine he was searching for at the moment I suspect he's rather enjoying himself doing a little field work. He likes to prove he's kept his operational edge."

Just as Jane opened her mouth to respond she noticed Laura creeping apologetically towards them. Erin following the route of Jane's eyes and turned around, asking with a slight glint in her own eye,

"Yes Laura?"

Intimidated by Erin's less than friendly tone Laura seemed to wilt momentarily before holding out a manila folder, "Sorry Miss Watts ...it's my first report... and I wasn't sure where to put it. I know Sir Harry doesn't like... so I thought...that I should..."

Erin held out her hand to take the file, while nobly refraining from telling Laura where she could stick the report. When Laura, having passed it over, failed to move away Erin raised her eyebrows even further while her voice became increasingly frigid. "Anything else?"

"Well actually Miss Watts it was Mrs Townsend I wanted to see. It's about the Reception and the meeting tomorrow."

Jane, amused by the sight of Erin's irritation, noticed that Laura had ceased to stammer and apologise when canvassing the prospect of speaking to herself. She'd also registered the formal address. Erin however seemed to be boiling up to a Harry type explosion when Jane replied calmly.

"As I told you it's Jane, and really if Sir Harry wants you to address him as Harry I think calling me Mrs Townsend and Erin Miss Watts is a little redundant – don't you Erin?" Not waiting for Erin's answer she continued, "Now what was it you wanted to know?"

"I'm sorry to pester ...well what do I wear for tomorrow's meeting? I don't want to let the Section down."

Erin's exasperation got the better of her, "Honestly Laura, just wear clothes. We're Section D not a fashion house."

Jane surveying Erin's glossy dark locks, probably welded into place by some hair product and makeup that was more immaculate than it had a right to be at this time of day, plus the high heels combined with the short skirted, figure hugging outfit, almost gasped at her effrontery in making that statement. For two pins Jane thought she'd start quoting from the Bible, a publication that the denizens of Section D probably only encountered when swearing in court or attending the funerals of their fallen colleagues. Leaving aside the temptation to quote the verses concerning the mote and plank and also temporarily ignoring Erin she smiled as she said, "In one sense Erin is right. With the Arts crowd anything would be okay but as we're supposed to be professionals I'd suggest smart casual. Can you manage that?"

Laura nodded with an answering look of relief. "Thanks Jane." Encountering another freezing glare from Erin she skaddled in the direction of Calum's desk. Suddenly hailed by Calum she halted there to indulge in a few moments of conversation and then, instead of leaving the Grid as Jane and Erin had expected, she returned to her own work station with a note in her hand and proceeded to pick up a phone as a determined expression crossed her features.

Erin was left with the feeling that between them Jane and Calum had just given her an object lesson in how to handle awkward staff and she wasn't sure whether to feel humiliated or annoyed. Something of this must have shown in her face as she heard Jane say speculatively, "She reminds me of a pupil I had a few years ago."

"Yes Jane, well interesting as that is does the parallel have a point?"

Jane continued calmly, "This particular girl although she was bright simply didn't believe it until her GCSE results came through, then she blossomed, straight A's at A level followed by Oxford. I think perhaps Laura was nervy because she was on probation, today she managed to prove to herself that she can do the job."

"We'll see. It's the constant air of apology that gets to me. Still I suppose I shouldn't have snapped at her. It was a sensible question and at least she's thinking about the task in hand."

For Erin this admission was unusual. She rarely talked much to the other women on the Grid. Quite apart from not really being a woman's woman as Section Chief she thought it inadvisable to indulge in girly chit chat with someone she might have to discipline two days later. But another feminine presence on the Grid who was not a subordinate made a pleasant change. Erin had really missed Ruth when the latter had transferred to the Home Office. Technically Erin may have been Ruth's superior but in practice she'd regarded the Intel analyst as a talented equal, someone sensible and experienced on her own level with whom she could discuss junior personnel without the accompanying worry that her words would later form a groundswell of gossip in the Ladies toilet. If she felt the gaping void of Ruth's absence after a working relationship lasting only a few weeks, how, given a work history that shaded into their chaste, intense but unconsummated personal relationship must that abyss be affecting Harry? As for his relationship or non relationship with Jane... if the entire team had been treading on eggshells previously, now they were tiptoeing as lightly as possible over the few remaining uncrunched shards ... it was late and Erin was tired, too tired to begin dissecting the mess that was Harry's private life. The entire Senior team had connived to protect him from the CIA twice, once in springing him from the convey taking him to the airport and then again a few hours later in the aftermath of the deaths of Ruth and Elena. Now, she decided, it was up to Harry to sort out the lingering implications of his past with Jane. Erin had her own domestic and romantic problems to deal with.

Sitting across the desk from Erin Jane was feeling equally exhausted. Glancing at her watch, the only item retrieved from home that Jane was currently wearing, she realised the time. A closer look at Erin revealed deepening circles under her eyes that owed nothing to smudged eyeliner or flaking mascara. Like everyone else the Section Chief had had a long day; unlike the rest of the Senior team she had a dependent waiting for her at home. Having been roughly there herself, in a job that was admittedly less intense and dangerous, Jane felt a burgeoning sympathy for the younger woman.

"Er Erin it's nearly eight, I don't like to pry but your daughter?"

Erin sighed wearily "I know. My mother lives around the corner and takes care of her when I'm at work. I sometimes think that this is not a job for people with children but...well I can't imagine doing anything else and I do have to support the pair of us."

Much as Jane would have liked to have asked how come Erin was member of the single parent's club she didn't want to seem nosey. What could she say? And did Erin actually want advice or was she looking for an affirmation that she should stay in post? Jane might want to scream to Erin that her advice would be to get out now before she was killed but Jane, when in the throes of depression, had been on the receiving end of enough counselling to know that ultimately advice came down to listening, talking a situation over and then allowing the person to take responsibility for their own choices. Besides which, as the woman who'd married one man who could be described as a charming philanderer governed by a slightly wonky moral compass and then dumped him to eventually marry another womaniser whose moral imperative began and ended with himself, she didn't feel overly qualified to advise anyone on how to make sensible life choices. Erin though was clearly bothered by something and needed to talk. Choosing her words carefully Jane responded.

"I know. It's a dilemma for most women no matter what their job." '_Plus in_ _yours you have the ever present threat of dying horribly as well.' _To avoid saying anything unfortunate she hastened on. "I nearly gave up completely when I had Catherine but finally went part time. I didn't want to be completly dependent upon Harry but even so it..."

The two women were hovering perilously near a heart to heart when the sound the pods opening arrested the prospect at birth. Harry and Dimitri trooped in, looking tired but slightly more cheerful as Harry walked towards them flourishing over his head a trophy in the form of an ancient teddy bear. A sudden click made him turn his head. Calum had captured the moment with his camera phone.

"Departmental Christmas card Harry. Should go well with the caption '_Sir Harry arrests a dangerous terrorist." _

Jane, chuckling inwardly, at Harry's indignant scowl couldn't resist, "How about '_Section D turns cuddly_.' They'll be queuing up to give you a hug Harry." Harry's face bore a fleeting shade of intense regret '_I only wish Ruth_ _was here carrying the first and only ticket.'_ Hoping that his expression hadn't given away his momentary flash of mourning he replied quickly,

"And where will you be in the queue?"

"I need to think about it. Don't forget I'm married." '_God I wish I could forget that, and why did you look so upset just now? ' _

Not realising that Jane had registered yet another of those infinitesimal pauses that were increasingly arousing her curiosity Harry proceeded towards his office, bear held before him like a shield. The rest of the team hovered outside the glass panelled cell unsure as to whether they should follow, a decision made for them when Harry bawled his summons.

"Come on. We all need to see this, whatever it is."

As they all stood uncertainly around the table Harry thrust the bear into Jane's hands. "Jane you've probably handled this more recently. I thought I felt a lump. Can you tell me if it's always been there?" Jane gingerly pressed her fingers up and down the bear's firmly stuffed torso. She had a distinct sensory memory of ramming in the wadding while fervently wishing that she could perform a similar taxidermy upon the bodies of both her ex husband and his replacement.

The rest of the team waited expectantly, hoping for some revelation that might begin to disperse the impenetrable shroud of mystery. Having slowly explored and prodded every portion of the furry body Jane concurred independently with Harry's opinion that the bear generally felt as a stuffed toy should. Expect for one hard patch about half way up its back. Not wanting to mislead unfairly Jane stuck to plain fact. "I restuffed it for her a couple of years ago. This lump doesn't feel like part of what I put in. May I.."

Harry nodded as she lifted the bear up towards the light and scrutinized its seams even more closely.

"Ahh yes. The join here at the back, if you look it's been sewn together again with a slightly different thread." Thinking of Catherine's reasons for asking Jane to undertake the messy kapok based task, _'Mum you know what I'm like with a needle, the only sewing I ever finished at school was that stuffed squirrel and even then I lost his nose and put the ears on upside down', _she added with a slight air of annoyance, "If I'd known she could sew so well I'd have told her..."

The irrepressible Calum broke in, 'To do the job herself or get stuffed."

Harry, having begun to scour his bottom desk drawer for a pair of scissors, seemed oblivious to Calum's latest outbreak of questionably frivolous wit. Eventually having located the necessary item, hidden under detritus that included an unopened miniature bottle of a whisky so poisonous he'd buried it before it buried him, his latest medical assessment advising him to turn teetotal, as in have just two small ones a week, plus a crumpled leaflet written by some comedian the Service employed to advise on life-work balance, he handed them to Jane saying "Could you do the honours?"

As Jane placed the bear on the table she heard Calum saying, "Shouldn't you be using a scalpel and wearing a surgical mask doctor?"

Jane ignored him as she unpicked the seam very carefully and handed the bear back to Harry.

With a look that veered somewhere halfway between hope and apprehension Harry slowly pulled the stuffing out through the small gap Jane had eased open for him. As he did so something suddenly dropped out from the contents in his hand, hitting the table with a small clunk. Harry grabbed the object which, once he dusted off the clinging remnants of stuffing, revealed itself to be a small memory stick.

After examining it carefully Harry looked directly at his curious team.

"This explains what the CIA were after. But the next questions are what does it contain and why is it so important to them?"

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**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment **


	20. Chapter 20

_**Thanks to all who read and reviewed. Thanks also for your patience with the delays between chapters. ** _

* * *

_End of Day One. Approx 8.30pm_

The initial relief felt by all present at their success in finally laying their hands upon something solid and definite was quickly punctured by Calum, who while watching Harry fingering the stick, felt obliged to point out that his questions would not be easily answered.

"I'll give you good odds against it not being password protected or encrypted."

Recognising what Calum was really implying Harry acknowledged the obvious difficulty in similar terms. "I doubt any of us would waste money betting against a certainty. But cracking it is your department so..."

With that Harry handed over the item that had cost them so much effort in proportion to its actual size. As the seemingly irrepressible Calum replied with, "Right I'll get cracking then," prior to moving towards the door Harry halted him.

"Not just yet Calum. I know it's getting late but before we disperse for the night I'd like to know if we've anything new to put on the table apart, that is, from Mr Snuggles innards."

Everyone registered the tone of voice, escape would not be possible until Harry was satisfied that they'd reviewed the operation as far as they unreasonably could for the night. This opinion was confirmed when Harry settled himself into his chair while simultaneously fixing everyone with the well known Pearce stare. He didn't need to use additional words. They all knew a response was required.

The immediate reaction of those present was to indulge in a frantic scramble for a seat in Harry's office, a game of musical chairs and sofa that concluded with Calum sprawled on the floor, his back propped up against the wall. Once seated uncomfortably the spooks all glanced at one another waiting for someone to begin. Had they anything new? The straight answer would be, '_not really'_ or '_nothing that moves us on'_ but they had all detected the slight note of strain in Harry's voice and were anxious not to disappoint him. Watching the eyes casting around and then gazing floorwards Jane was reminded of many a lesson in which no pupil wanted to the first to essay an educated guess for fear of getting it wrong, although in her world getting it right was the greater worry. Praise from the teacher tended to have a disastrous effect on the street cred.

Confronted by the evident reluctance of anyone willing to screw their courage to the sticking place Harry decided to prompt discussion by summing up the situation as he saw it.

"Clearly we now know that this memory stick is what the CIA were after and that they believe that it holds something of huge importance. Furthermore it would seem that those who are currently searching for it probably aren't the people who have Catherine. She must have known that someone was after it, hence the hiding place and, judging by the card she sent to Jane, she had some worries about being targeted." He scrutinized the weary faces of his team, "Does anyone have an alternative theory?"

The lengthening silence was finally broken by Jane. "I've worked my way through her address book. One of her contacts claimed that she was working on an idea but needed to protect a sensitive source. As I told Erin earlier, nothing positive, in lieu of which I've been trying to cobble together a list of times, places and people she's met over the last week." Catching Harry's astonished eye she faltered before asking," That is what you do isn't it?"

Harry had been thinking back to Erin's earlier remarks. Could he have saved his marriage by recruiting Jane? But no. He would never have chanced making his children orphans. He remembered all too vividly the stricken look in Wes Carter's eyes on the day he'd caught sight of Uncle Harry standing on the edge of the rugby field. The day Adam had died. He could still recall his own personal feeling of devastation as he clasped the warm body of the weeping boy close, his coat drenched with Wes' free falling tears as they both struggled, and failed to control their grief. No; emphatically no, better to have experienced his bitter divorce, followed by the years of estrangement than to have risked the prospect of leaving his children parentless. His attention having been momentarily fixed in the past he noted that Jane was looking puzzled, even mildly apprehensive at his unexpected frown and failure to reply.

"Yes Jane, that should help. Have you completed it?"

"Not quite – I need another ten minutes or so."

Dimitri meanwhile had been mulling over the theory Harry had postulated. "Harry we're assuming that the person who lifted Catherine is the one who's holding her. Is it possible instead that he's her source and that they were both captured after he collected her?"

It was a fresh suggestion and everyone took time to ponder it before Erin protested, "Possible, but if they were taken by the CIA the same consideration applies – why didn't they know about Mr Snuggles?"

Harry nodded his agreement with her objection before saying, "I think we need to consider Dimitri's theory as Catherine clearly thought some danger existed. But if they were captured as a pair it wasn't by the CIA or whoever else is after Mr Snuggles."

The absurdity of referring to the teddy bear as if it was a person hadn't escaped Harry but he decided it deserved some respect for its vital role in secreting what appeared to be a major clue. Had they managed to get anything positive from the earlier Intel? Staring to the carpeted corner where Calum was lounging he inquired in a deceptively casual voice, "Anything else? Calum have your checks completed?"

"Several are still running Harry, so far it's all negative including any trace on Wayne O'Docherty."

The slight inflection with which Calum made this statement caught Harry's attention.

"Go on."

Availing himself of the invitation Calum explained, "He doesn't seem to exist except on paper as the named licensee of a small car fleet. The address given is a flat above a carry out in Brixton but no reference in the electoral roll and no trace of his having a driving licence." Calum paused and then continued with obvious scepticism, "It's possible of course that he's just moved house and doesn't drive, some fleet owners deliberately register cars in the name of a non driver, then they have a defence against speeding tickets but..."

It was Jane who interrupted this fantasy reasoning, "You don't think so."

Harry had instantly grasped where Calum was headed. "I assume that you're implying that Wayne O'Docherty is a ghost. If so any ideas as to where his corporeal body might reside?"

Calum, snarky comments abandoned for once, hesitated for a couple of seconds, "I'm not entirely sure but I managed to identify the chap you sent to hospital from the police database. He seems to be a more efficient version of the druggie who ended up in the Thames. A deniable asset. Link that with the likelihood that someone who apparently doesn't exist has set up a car fleet and my best guess would be a criminal gang are at work. I'd further suggest that they've been hired by the CIA to avoid a paper trail, possibly for a black operation. I checked the local police logs and they record some recent instances of smash and grab, targeted muggings and so on, usually with a getaway car in the offing."

Erin was frowning slightly, "But Cal if this is a black op why so obvious when trying to get Jane? Are we sure they were CIA? We don't know what Catherine was working on. It could be a topic of interest to goodness knows who. Laura may have been mistaken. We didn't definitely pin this onto the CIA until she suggested it." Judging by the note of hope in her voice Erin apparently hadn't recovered from the shock of Laura being made permanent and wouldn't be devastated if she was proved wrong. That possibility was instantly dashed by Calum.

"Sorry Erin. When Jane rang in I managed to hack into the post incident call on the police comms. I didn't get much from that but enough to confirm the CIA presence complete with American accents, flashy id cards and sunglasses in the autumn. Though why they weren't disguised is, I agree, inexplicable."

Harry, as referee, intervened at this point. "I can guess. They probably thought a quick dive in, grab Jane and get out. An expensive car wouldn't look out of place in Jane's village inhabited as it is by ageing yuppies who didn't quite make the grade in London. Would it Jane?"

It was news to Jane that Harry was so well informed about her neighbourhood. They may have descended into a mutual loathing as exemplified by their solicitor based contact, but as the possibility of an emergency with the children could not be discounted she'd always ensured that he'd had her contact details. It hadn't been much of a concession given that he'd have acquired them anyway by the nefarious means obtaining in his profession. She supposed she might have guessed that he would make it his business to check out her personal safety, he probably couldn't help himself. For some reason that she'd never understood he persisted in feeling responsible for her. She wouldn't mind wagering that he could draw a map of her village blindfold and knew more about her neighbours than she did. Not that the latter would be difficult feat. With the exception of the widow next door Jane avoided them like the plague. It was, she'd not infrequently reflected, somewhat ironic that had she ever let it be known that her ex-husband had acquired a knighthood they'd have been all over her like a rash – the one that heralded the onset of the Black Death - hailing her as a wit instead of regarding her as an antisocial adjunct to the ebullient, bonhomous, Robin. She had survived through many an agonising Sunday lunchtime drinkies and name dropping party by inwardly sniggering at that fragrant thought.

A cough from Erin jerked her back into the discussion. "Sorry just thinking. I'd agree that a car of that type wouldn't look out of place, but it would be noticed. And me leaving with two strange men, that'd really get the tongues clacking." _'Robin's fan club would be rushing round to comfort him.' _

Calum smirked. "Yes Laura mentioned that you had two gossipy neighbours, so in the interests of trying to discover any further Intel I asked her to contact them."

Jane shut her eyes briefly, as she considered the ramifications of this, while Erin interjected with a furious shriek. "What were you thinking of blowing our cover like that?"

As Calum opened his mouth to reply to her Harry could only hope that he wasn't going to utter the immortal phrase '_calm down dear_'. The day had been tough enough without having to divert into an irrelevant debate upon the nature of gender appropriate responses. Harry's prayer was answered as Calum contradicted her, his voice implying that he'd been stung by the accusation.

"I didn't. I asked Laura to pretend to be a local journalist." He looked at Jane as he grinned, "I thought your neighbour across the road might find a female voice more simpatico."

Harry was all too aware of the possible embarrassment coming Jane's way. But what price her pride versus their daughter's safety. Given how secretive she'd been though he had a feeling that their precarious relationship was about to flounder, just when they'd parked on a plateau of occasional civility. Jane however was speaking, a slight glint of humour in her voice.

"You probably guessed right there Calum, what did she come up with?" No point, she decided, in trying to avoid the inevitable. It wasn't as if she was in alliance with people who moonlighted as towncriers, keeping secrets was their trade.

"Not sure. I haven't had a chance to ask her yet."

Erin was becoming ever more impatient as the time ticked on, she was desperate to see Rosie, preferably before midnight. "Then for heaven's sake can't we ask her?"

Dimitri not keen to prolong the proceedings, dived out to inform Laura that her presence was required forthwith. The others, knowing that Laura rarely spoke without apology, repetition or hesitation prepared to be regaled by a long saga as they heaved a group sigh and fidgeted in an effort to acquire more comfortable seating positions. The bundle of notes in Laura's hand didn't suggest that their respective perches would be vacated quickly.

As soon as she entered the room Harry, having noted the fixedly patient expressions, took control.

"Laura did you discover anything useful from Jane's neighbours?" Laura surveyed the entire Senior team, looking surprisingly confident given her track record to date, opened her mouth and began,

"Er well I spoke first to Mrs Emma Winnick," the ghost of a smile played on her lips as she recalled Jane's nickname for the woman. In a mimicked, slightly false posh voice Laura began to quote, "She was very upset at being traduced, especially when the police threatened to charge her with wasting police time. She thought this was dreadful as she's a personal friend of the Chief Constable. According to her the police constable was very disrespectful, she heard him whispering under his breath, '_Not another one, that man_ _gets around more women than bloody Casanova ever did_.' ...Sorry but..." Laura's exposition had been interrupted by a spluttering sound from Jane.

"Apologies Laura – do go on, I gather that she wasn't arrested."

"Never mind that," Harry asked crisply "did you get anything of relevance?"

"Sorry Sir, from Mrs Winnick not really, she was so upset that that she had to... er... go and lie down to soothe her shattered nerves." Laura paused for a moment and then pulled out a second sheaf of scrawlings, "Sorry Sir... but I haven't had time to write then up properly...and..." The papers slipped from her fingers and fell onto the floor.

"Laura just get on with it."

"Sorry. I then rang Mrs Mabel Trenchard – Jane's next door neighbour. She saw it all." Laura's voice transformed again, this time into that of an elderly middleclass chatterbox. " She thought that just before the police arrived the two men seemed to be watching the Tindall's house so she went out to see if they'd lost their way. She was just approaching them when she saw the police arrive.. er then...well ...she..." Laura was having some problems keeping her voice steady..."as she isn't a gossip or... and doesn't pry she... er...hid behind a tree in her garden to listen. She heard them argue... some reference to Brits not knowing their ass from elbows and letting terrorists and criminals run free... she's sure about that because she thought it an odd thing for a visitor to say. She peered round and saw one pull a gun out of his pocket, then the CIA thumped the police and drove off. When one of the officers went to talk to Mrs Winnick she...er Mrs Trenchard...sorry can't read my handwriting, she was talking nineteen to the dozen."

"Laura." Harry's voice was vaguely threatening.

"Sorry Sir. The officer by the car was punched in the nose as they made their escape. She went up to check that he was okay, he was explaining to her that they'd had a call when Mr Tindall arrived."

'_Oh God'_ Jane thought as Laura's voice continued. "The police asked why the CIA should be watching his house and he muttered something she thought that sounded like ... as this point Laura halted. "Er Sir I'm not sure I should repeat this," as she stared pointedly at Jane.

Jane reassured her, "It's okay Laura go on."

"Well he shouted something about, '_Bloody Pearce and his effing James Bond game_s.' When Mrs Trenchard mentioned that Jane was away visiting her daughter for a few days he..., I'm sorry Sir I'll put it in my report... you don't allow that sort of language on the Grid... The police told him that the CIA claimed that they'd wanted to talk to Jane because her daughter was missing. Mr Tindall shouted at the police that they were an effing disgrace; they should keep thugs off the street and go after them instead of standing around sodding well chatting with old ladies and .. er...quite a few other things. Mrs Trenchard said that they threatened to arrest him for abuse whereupon he said..."

Harry continued for her, "Let me guess. He's a close friend of the Chief Constable." Even with the other spooks as an audience he couldn't resist commenting to Jane, "Not changed much has he?"

"Oh I don't know, thirty years ago he'd have slagged off the Chief Constable as well, now he positively purrs about some aspects of the establishment. And you have to admit he blends into the social climbing ambience of the neighbourhood quite well."

"True. But do you?" For a brief moment a pair of steely grey eyes and hazel eyes met. Jane didn't need to answer the question, the slightly wry quirk of her lips did it for her. To Erin, catching the mutual glances, they both seemed to have retreated inside that exclusive private world that only couples with a shared history could penetrate**. **The fleeting contact was broken by Harry asking Laura, "Anything else."

"Not really Sir. I'm sorry but I don't think I've found out anything useful."

"On the contrary Laura, you've confirmed Intel and our working theory. It's now clear that while the CIA didn't want to answer questions they did know that Catherine was missing. That means they are certainly involved somehow. Unlike Mrs Winnick and Mr Tindall I do know the Chief Constable so I can insist upon a confidential report knowing that we are working on more than a hunch."

With that Harry surveyed his team, despite the fact that they were still sitting down, they all looked nearly dead on their feet. "Very well, that wraps things up for tonight. We'll stick to the original plan of talking to Garside tomorrow. Erin, you need to see your daughter, Laura, you go as well, practise your mimicry, in the bath, in bed, but not on the Grid. Dimitri, write up your reports and then leave. Jane, finish your time line or whatever, I'm giving you ten minutes while I sign off the most urgent paperwork," He gestured towards a pile of files on his desk. "Calum if you could wait for Jane to give you her opus and then go home yourself."

No one was inclined to linger, within seconds Harry was alone in his office. Sinking into his chair he regarded the documents on his desk with a total lack of affection. He sometimes considered that death by bullet would be preferable to death by a desk bound inflicted deep vein thrombosis combined with RSI. As he settled to his task he heard the swoosh of the pods proclaiming that Erin was departing as instructed. Opening the first file he noted that she had considerately left post it notes marking the places for his signature. They fluttered in front of his tired eyes like miniature flags tempting him to just scrawl his name and toss the papers into the basket for dispatch to the Registry. He refused to succumb; force of habit demanded that he speed read every item, however minor it seemed. He'd built his career on such thoroughness. He dealt with the top three files marked 'Urgent' and then decided to call it a night. It was nearly nine o'clock, he still had to get Jane to the medics and crucially they both had to eat. As he moved the remaining folders to one side of his desk the top one fell to the floor, stooping to pick it up Harry saw a sheet of appended notes in a familiar neat precise handwriting.

At once an image of Ruth as he'd so often seen her on the darkened Grid swam before him, her face illuminated by the desk lamp and computer screen, her eyes meeting his and then quickly turning away. Those remarkable eyes, the weathervane of her thoughts, sometimes thoughtful, sometimes sad, sometimes questioning, sometimes glowing with a sudden empathy that only they shared, occasionally happy and smiling, but always, always so breathtaking beautiful, even in those last few seconds as he helplessly watched the light fade from them, while he desperately tried to convince her that she would survive, that they had a future together.

Move on the smart advice said; but it didn't say to what. Find an absorbing hobby: what hobby could possibly banish the memory of the past years; folk dancing, stamp collecting? Do something positive that will give you new memories. He'd seriously contemplated that one when he'd considered buying Ruth's dream cottage. Then he'd realised that he wouldn't be developing new memories but sinking into a negative slough of 'might have beens'. It was in that moment that he'd understood that he didn't want fresh memories, he and Ruth had shared so much his sole desire was to retain his old ones as long as possible. He could only truly mourn her on the Grid, the place that had brought them together and conversely kept them apart. And then, of course, there was the big one – find another partner. That had been possible, it would be possible. A few women had tried, with varying degrees of subtly, to imply that given less than half a chance they could console him. But Harry wasn't up for anything, including what he believed was referred to as comfort sex. He'd tried that one frequently enough in the past, particularly in the difficult few months after his divorce, to know that the immediate physical relief it brought didn't compensate for the aching emotional void. For the last few years he'd only wanted one woman, he still did, and through that need had rediscovered a simple truth, that loneliness was a state of mind rather than a physical fact.

He fought back the tears as he replaced the folder, so engrossed by his thoughts that he'd completely missed the sound of a soft knock on his office door. The single concerned utterance "Harry" startled him into looking up. For the briefest of seconds he thought he saw those two glorious blue eyes gazing at him. At the repetition of his name in a more urgent tone the sparkling blue of his imagination dissolved into the worried grey of reality. Jane was standing in his office doorway carrying a plastic bag that she'd unearthed with the intention of gathering together what remained of Mr Snuggles.

She said nothing further but her earlier curiosity was rapidly becoming assimilated into concern. She'd previously thought she'd seen Harry in all moods and guises but these frequent momentary descents into a distressed reverie were different to anything she'd seen before. The sight of such raw grief was almost obscene. She had never, not even after Bill had died, seen such naked anguish on his face. She'd often enough told Harry to go to Hell, now she was increasingly convinced that he'd taken up permanent residence there. The demons that were tormenting him seemed to possess an existence that transcended anything he'd confronted on the Grid. For now she would have to pretend she hadn't noticed anything, although he couldn't fail to know that she had. Twenty five years ago they had both play acted as they tried to stave off the end game of their marriage. Would they ever manage to abandon the barrier of pretence that prevented them from really talking to one another? She had thought they'd begun to make progress earlier in the day, now she wasn't so sure.

Harry was well aware that she had noticed the devastation on his face. He could tell by the solicitude with which she asked.

"Harry, is anything wrong?

"Just worry that's all."

Jane didn't believe him for one second. Seeing his hand firmly clamped on a file she wished that he felt he could confide in her. But there again she hadn't trusted him with her secrets, so why should he trust someone who was virtually a stranger with his? Casting her eyes around to disguise the difficult moment she noticed the unstuffed body of Mr Snuggles pushed to the side of Harry's desk. Aware that Harry probably had confidential documents lying in full view she pointed to the pile of floppy fabric and stuffing as she asked, "May I, I think I need to sort him out."

As she leaned over to gather up bits of the bear she couldn't resist a glance at the file. Nothing she could see explained Harry's unusually emotional response. The note that he'd tried to conceal and which she read upside down began 'Registry Ref 2341/2345/2011 and continued with what her quick glance informed her was a list of ... well a list! Surely he'd seen worse than that in his time. Harry had noticed her reaction. He wondered how long before Jane began to question him outright. Evading answers would be difficult when he had to ask her about Robin. There was however one inescapable difference. He might be able to help her, she couldn't help him. No one could restore the dead.

Harry straightened himself up, and noticing that Jane had now scooped up the remnants of Mr Snuggles enquired, "Finished Jane."

"I am, but judging by that pile on your desk you've some way to go. If you give me the file you mentioned earlier I'll start looking at the Reception details while you finish up."

Harry was touched by her recognition of his workload. The Jane of yesteryear would never have understood. But then the Harry of yesteryear would have taken her up on the offer, instead of standing up and grabbing his suit jacket.

"It's alright Jane, I can finish signing off the rest tomorrow. We're going home – sorry back to my place."

Jane smiled, "While I'm quartered on you I think home will do nicely. Actually I meant to say." She halted and then continued uncertainly, "Would you like me to find a hotel, I mean you offered for one night only and...

"Jane, unless you really feel that you can't stand being under my roof I'd rather you remained. The danger hasn't gone away and we do need to stay together in case of news."

Jane's offer had been genuine but she was relieved l that he'd rejected it. Playing hunt the hotel wasn't a prospect she'd been relishing. "More a case of can you stand me I'd have thought. You're the one forced to be host."

"It's not a problem, you're growing on me."

"Like a mould or fungus, thanks?"

"Very useful items. If I recall correctly it was mould that led to the discovery of penicillin. Which reminds me, our first stop is the medical suite, we're not going anywhere until you've seen a doctor."

"I thought you'd forgotten about that." Looking at Harry's face she added with a grimace, "I should have known, Harry Pearce is like an elephant."

"I may be going grey and I'm aware that I've gained several pounds but do you have to be so insulting?" The intonation implied that felt somewhat offended.

A mildly exasperated contrition was forthcoming. "Harry simply I meant you never forget, especially when it comes to enemies. Anyway the greying locks and extra weight make you look authoritative. But it's late so can't we skip the medical suite?" Pleading eyes accompanied the final request.

"NO."

As they crossed the Grid together Harry noticed Calum deeply entrenched in his workstation. He caught Harry's eye as they approached.

"Harry, Dimitri's popped out for a minute but wanted to know, should he contact your usual driver to put Jane's bags in the car?"

Harry had completely forgotten that Jane had acquired some physical luggage to accompany the emotional variety she was lumbered with. "Tell him thanks and yes."

Calum seemingly had another query which he asked with a hesitation that was, for him, unusual.

"Harry I was wondering. We have to get that memory stick sorted. I've done a preliminary check and I think our best bet for cracking it is to use the de- encryption software that we acquired from the CIA and which we've adapted, but I'd like to be around while it runs. I could stay on the Grid tonight and hand over to Malcolm when he comes in tomorrow"

Harry looked at Calum and realised that he was being entirely serious. "But Calum you'll be exhausted... and.."

"And nothing Harry, we need to find out what is happening asap. I can examine Jane's timeline while the other checks are running. See if I can pick up anything on CCTV."

Harry hesitated. There was much in what Calum said, but he didn't want to end the operation with officers burnt out by exhaustion. On the other hand if he forbade Calum the chances were that the techie would ignore him anyway.

"Very well then, on condition that when Malcolm arrives you handover at once and disappear into one of the rest rooms. And Calum thanks."

With that he ushered Jane towards the pods. If they didn't make a move soon they'd be joining Calum in his all night vigil. That wouldn't worry Harry, he'd done it before but he had Jane's welfare to consider.

A few minutes later Harry had coerced a still protesting Jane into the medical suite. Entering the door marked Duty Doctor Harry was relieved to see that the medic in residence was an old familiar face who'd patched up many of his staff, not to mention himself, on numerous occasions. It was a pleasure that rapidly became short lived once the occupant of the surgery began to greet them. Harry's previously painful encounters with the doctor meant that his brain cells had failed to retain the information that Nat Reynolds made Calum look the soul of tact and gravitas.

"Hello Harry, and who's this lovely lady? Addressing Jane Nat added, "One thing you can say about old Harry, he's always had an eye for a good looking woman."

Which one of them, Harry wondered, was Jane going to neutralise on the spot. Nat, as he guided Jane to a seat, continued to burble in a misjudged attempt to put her at ease, "Known him for long? I'd watch him if I were you. You never know what he'll be up to next."

Before Nat could particularise Jane managed to squeeze in an ice laden. "That's why I divorced him."

Harry gave Jane her due, she'd succeeded were most others had failed; she'd totally silenced the unfortunate medic. Nat seemed to be contemplating the advantages of melting into the floor but finally recovered sufficiently to say,

"Oops. Er what...?"

Harry taking pity on him hurriedly outlined the reason for their presence, "Jane was caught up in a bomb blast last night and I'd like her checked out. She's got a couple of cracked ribs, stitched shoulder, badly sprained ankle."

"And a tongue that still functions perfectly, so I can explain this myself."

Given a breathing space Nat had prepared for action. "And medication?"

Jane, responding with less acerbity now that Nat was in professional mode, replied with exactitude. "Not really. They did give me painkillers. I can't remember the make but I'm not happy taking them in any case. Harry said they'd knock out a horse and I want to remain coherent."

Nat pursed his lips, as an MI5 medic he was well accustomed to patients who felt obliged to test their pain threshold to the extreme. "We'll talk about that in a minute, could you put your foot up on this stool. I'd like to look at that ankle." As Nat unwrapped the strapping Harry had put on the previous evening a bulging limb was revealed. In fact Harry was quietly impressed with Jane's stoicism, it must have been hurting her quite badly. Nat as he prodded various parts of the swelling gave his considered verdict, "I'd think about exhibiting in an agricultural show, best cauliflower department. I'll bandage it up again but the most sensible advice I can give is stay off it as much as possible. Do you have a walking stick anywhere Harry?"

Harry wondered if this was the moment for the honesty recommended by Dimitri. He did have one at home, purchased through necessity when recuperating from an old injury, but despite their ongoing truce he still wasn't entirely sure about the wisdom of gifting Jane with a blunt weapon, especially around the general vicinity of himself. Nat hadn't waited for a reply to his enquiry. "If so I'd advise using it. Harry after his various experiences can bind up injuries better than the average doctor so if you have trouble you won't need to call one out. Now for the shoulder."

Realising that this examination would involve Jane stripping off to reveal Erin's bra Harry wanted to avoid embarrassment on two counts. Not only had he long since signed away the right to gawp at Jane's body, he wanted to avoid the risk of inadvertently visualising Erin in her underwear when chairing future meetings in the Briefing Room. Becoming hot under the collar at that thought was Dimitri's prerogative. He was preparing to make his excuses to leave when fortuitously there was knock on the door. Answering it Harry saw a tired looking Dimitri and slipped outside quietly.

Sorry Harry .. but I suddenly remembered..." Aware he was presenting as a Laura soundalike Dimitri thrust a pile of papers in Harry's direction. "The information Jane wanted about the Reception. I know it's late but I thought she could look at it tomorrow morning."

"Knowing Jane she'll start at once but thanks."

Returning into the medical room Harry was relieved to see that Jane was respectably clothed, Nat must have been swift, probably to atone for his earlier clanger.

"Well Nat, what's the final conclusion?"

"The shoulder should heal well, the wound is clean and the stitching is holding, although it will leave a scar, I'll give you some dressings. I assume that you can change them for her Harry?"

"That depends whether Jane's happy for me to get my hands on her body."

"That depends on which bit you're after."

Nat waited for them to finish before he uttered his final verdict. "I'll give you some very mild painkillers, they won't knock you out and they won't entirely cancel out the pain but they will relax you a little. I'd suggest taking them before you go to bed." With that he handed Harry a small bottle and a packet. "You've got more pockets. If you have any problems do pop back." Turning to Jane he said "I virtually rely on Harry's section to keep me in a job, I've not been disappointed today. I have got to say Harry, judging by that young man's bruising, you still pack a punch. I told him that although there's no long term damage he'd be wise to disappoint his lady friends for a few days at least."

Once outside Harry felt an apology was in order."Sorry about some of that Jane... Nat's bedside manner has been somewhat corrupted by the Service."

"Like a lot else Harry. Don't worry, I could have done without the visuals relating to our son but he's obviously a good doctor and that, when someone is poking and prodding my body, is all that concerns me."

"Perhaps I should have read medicine. I might have seduced you more quickly."

"Today reading Ancient History might be more appropriate. Moving on quickly as they say, what did Dimitri want? I recognised his voice."

"To give me, well you this." Jane's eyes narrowed slightly, as Harry explained, "It's your homework, the file for the Reception."

"And Sir Harry if I do it properly do I get a gold star?"

"No, but I might forget about the painkillers and let you have a glass of red wine."

"And if I'm a bad girl and don't?"

"Not a question you ask an MI5 officer. "

"Okay but I do have one question I want to an answer to."

Knowing that she'd caught him in an unguarded moment of visible mourning Harry braced himself for the inevitable question, "Which is?"

"Can I please, please, take these dreadful earrings off?"

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**Thanks for reading. If you have a moment please review. I'll try but may not get the next chapter posted before Christmas **


	21. Chapter 21

**_Thanks to all those who read and even greater thanks to those who reviewed. This is the last update before New Year _**

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_Harry's House approx 10.00pm_

It was with a surprising sense of homecoming that Jane, now minus the despised earrings, had entered the hallway of Harry's house. The journey from the Grid had been uneventful, interrupted only by a halt to collect a carryout meal. Jane wasn't a great devotee of convenience food but had been obliged to agree with Harry's observation that they both needed to eat and at this time of night neither of them possessed the energy to cook from scratch. She hadn't argued, instead contenting herself with the stipulation that they bought a Chinese meal, 'I don't want to be breathing curry fumes over everyone during tomorrow's meeting.' Apart from that quick discussion they'd travelled in silence, Harry locked in thought, while she indulged in a preliminary skim of the papers Dimitri had passed to her.

Although it would be inaccurate to say that she felt completely comfortable in such close proximity to Harry; the circumstances could after all be construed as intimate, she had more pressing concerns than the ill informed speculations of outsiders. At present her immediate priority was to locate the dishes and implements required for the consumption of the much needed victuals. She didn't know when Harry had last eaten but she'd had nothing, bar coffee, since chomping on the sandwiches provided by Laura. Consequently her back wasn't so much touching her front as threatening to seriously assault it. Everything else, the awkwardness of being immured alone with Harry, her worries about Catherine, the mess that was her second marriage, paled against this simple physical need.

Jane, due to the acerbic exchanges that had distinguished their breakfast, hadn't taken in many details concerning Harry's kitchen. Pottering around now she noted that while the available utensils extended beyond those of a tin opener, microwave and corkscrew, suggesting that he survived on rather more nutritious food than precooked meals, the cupboards although well organised weren't exactly overstocked with ingredients. Combined with pristine cooker the entire arrangement shrieked bachelor who rarely cooked. That clarified one minor query; if Harry was entertaining a mystery woman he almost certainly wasn't wining and dining her in his home.

Harry, having disappeared upstairs with Jane's bags had quietly returned. Propped up in the kitchen doorway he was watching her as he savoured the first moments of stillness he'd been able to enjoy since his driver had drawn up outside the house. Firstly, of course, he'd had to help Jane up the steps, her wobbly ankle making singlehanded negotiation unwise. Then he'd had to retrieve their meal resulting in another up and down passage, followed by a final repeat journey to collect her two holdalls. Staggering slightly with the last, while thankful that Jane had refrained from including the kitchen sink in her packing, he had wondered if she'd considered that her stay could be protracted. Until he could ascertain the exact state of her marriage he was disinclined to allow her to return anywhere near the orbit of the loathsome Robin. Having pushed the bags into the bedroom given over to Jane's occupancy he'd changed into more casual clothing, the thought rippling through his mind that seeing him in non-work mode might encourage her to relax in his company. Then remembering Nat Reynolds' advice he'd excavated various neglected corners playing hunt the walking stick, which he finally located lurking inside a forgotten cupboard in his so called and rarely used study. This had been followed his creeping quietly downstairs, to avoid Jane's detection, as he surreptitiously opened his front door to check that his watching officer was in place. Harry had previously cursed this surveillance but with the recent turn of events he wasn't about to prolong his objections. Watching Jane take ownership of his kitchen his primary feeling was one of relief that she seemed to be making herself at home. His second thought was astonishment at how quickly they had adopted their historic marital roles**, **with him doing the heavy work and Jane the domestics**.** Perhaps this reversion was an unconscious effort on both their parts to slip into the once familiar groove, an attempt to find comfort in a trying present via the accustomed past. Finally sensing his presence Jane called over her shoulder, "What are we drinking Harry, tea or coffee?"

Harry didn't reply as he moved into the kitchen bearing the gift of his unearthed walking stick. "Here Jane, if you won't sit down at least take this." Remembering his initial reaction at Nat Reynolds' suggestion he continued somewhat belatedly, "Just to try to avoid using it on me."

"Thanks. All I need now is the ear trumpet and crimplene dress."

"After yesterday's minor incident be thankful that you have the option of growing old.'"

Remembering that the visible dangers of Harry's job were etched into his scar ridden flesh Jane was chastened. Perhaps it wasn't tactful to groan about ageing to someone whose profession made that possibility a luxury. Embarrassed by her insensitivity she turned to an alternative topic, inspired by her cursory examination of his cupboards**.**

"Harry I hate to say it but we'll have to go shopping for food if I stay much longer." Swinging open the doors fronting two of the wall units she waved her hand towards the small packets of pasta and limited variety of tins that lined the shelves. "Your cupboards make Old Mother Hubbard's look well stocked."

He had to admit the truth of her strictures. Over the past few months he'd been surviving on ready meals, carryouts, the odd pub lunch when dragged there by Malcolm, and inadvisably large schooners of whisky. "Sorry Jane. I wasn't expecting visitors. I will admit I don't cook much these days."

If ever there was a statement straight from the school of the bleeding obvious that, as far as Jane was concerned, was it. Opening her mouth she continued to make her point. "Much as I appreciate tonight's carryout, in sheer dietary self defence I'd like to try to produce something home cooked." Attempting to fathom the slightly strained expression on Harry's face she suddenly remembered that she was a guest and therefore admonishment might not be well received, adding as a polite afterthought, "If you don't mind of course."

Harry had been searching his memory in an effort to recall when he'd last used his cooker for anything at all: it was quicker to heat things through in the microwave. He appreciated the concern underlying Jane's volunteering, even if it was couched in condemnatory terms, but he didn't want her to feel obligated. Equally remembrance of Jane's culinary skills made him reluctant to reject a well meant offer. At the time of their marriage, given the combination of Jane's looks, intelligence, cooking, plus her skill in offering more physical creature comforts, he knew he'd hit the matrimonial jackpot. What more could a reasonable man have wanted in a wife?

And he'd been careless. And neglectful. Had put the job first. And hadn't valued what he'd had until he'd lost it forever. And wasn't that the story of his life?

Not wanting to seem ungracious he hurriedly answered, "Yes and no. No I don't mind, but you're a guest not a servant and I have the papers to prove that you're no longer my wife."

The response was wry. "It's not much of an offer Harry as you'll have to pay. Until I can contact the bank for replacement cards I'm going to have to ask you for a loan. Call it my effort to avoid feeling too beholden." The accompanying grimace with which she contemplated the prospect of being dependent upon Harry made him recall his original plan.

"Just give the financial details to Calum. He'll sort it out for you."

"But Harry.." Jane's response rested somewhere between plaintive and worried. Either way she wasn't exactly making it easy for him to help her, so it was with some degree of impatience that Harry snapped.

"Which would you prefer – a two week wait while the bank customer service gets it wrong or instant access?"

The alternative of having to ask Harry to finance her, or even more humbling Robin, silenced Jane. The rumbling of her stomach reminding her of more immediate issues made her ask, "Where do we eat, in here or in your sitting room?"

Harry considered for a moment, "I suggest the main room. I know it's late and only a carryout but I'd prefer a room we can both relax in. Preferably nowhere that reminds me of that dreadful cafe we were in this morning."

"Agreed. Although I'm in no error of mistaking your very untouched kitchen for that sordid establishment. Can you help me find your serving dishes in that case?"

Harry moved over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a selection which he handed to her. "I'll go and lay the table." Adding as an afterthought, "and find a bottle of wine."

A voice of approval reached his ears. "And stuff the painkillers. Good plan."

With that benediction he vanished to carry out his self appointed task while Jane finished tipping the contents of several foil trays into appropriate dishes. Just as she'd dumped the last of the containers into the rubbish bin she heard the telephone ring. Her immediate assumption was that Calum had called to announce a successful breakthrough on the contents of Mr Snuggles. Limping as quickly as she could to the sitting room she saw Harry talking into the phone. She knew at once from his expression that it was not the techie on the other end of the line. That warm smile and inflection were reserved for the privileged few who'd managed to breech Harry's private defences, a small exclusive club from which she'd resigned years ago.

The phone had rung just as Harry finished drawing the cork on a bottle of white wine. With thoughts exactly corresponding to those of Jane he'd answered it, his heart beating at a rate that was not advisable for a man of his years.

"Uncle Harry!"

Harry checked his watch, it was nearly ten o'clock. "Wes! What are you doing ringing at this time? I thought you weren't allowed to use your phones at night." '_God I've really entered old fogeydom.' _

"It's okay Uncle Harry. I sneaked out to the bathroom. This is a spare phone I've hidden." Harry closed his eyes briefly at the thought of the nemesis that would descend in the shape of Wes's housemaster if, or more likely when, that little ploy was uncovered. There again he was talking to Adam Carter's son. Were cunning and sheer brio hereditary? Keen to avoid Wes being discovered Harry repeated, "So why are you ringing me?"

"I've made the Junior First Fifteen at rugby and we've got a home match in about a fortnight's time. Gran and Granddad are coming but it I wondered if you could make it. Please." Listening to an excited Wes it occurred to Harry that the boy had also inherited the wheedling and charm skills of both parents. "I promise I'll try Wes."

"Thanks Uncle Harry. Then I hope the terrorists take the weekend off."

"Wes. What have we told you..." The only response was a chuckle as the phone went dead.

Turning around Harry saw Jane standing with a dish of Chinese food in her hands and a bemused expression decorating her face. Too late he realised the phone had been on speaker and she must have heard every word. He'd have to explain and he wasn't sure how she would take it in view of the number of occasions he'd let his own children down. Perhaps he should have postponed giving her that stick.

Moving across the room he took the food from her and signalled to her to sit down. Her glance back at the kitchen making him insist, "I'll get the rest of the dishes"

"Harry I don't need you to act as a servant. I know I'm a guest but..."

"Actually Jane I was thinking that with the combination of your ankle and shoulder I'd prefer to avoid scraping sweet and sour off the floor."

Serving bowls, glasses and plates all safely conveyed the pair sat down to start their meal. Something didn't feel quite right. Jane's stiffly seated posture was reminiscent of someone about to be subjected to a court martial rather than an individual attempting to relax into a much needed companionable meal. Her nervousness in turn making him tense. Almost unbelievably Harry Pearce, the scourge of cabinet ministers, terrorists and other assorted scum, was approaching his ex-wife with all the panache of a rookie lion tamer facing down a half starved big cat as he mooted his next tentative his next proposal.

"Jane – it's a little bright in here for late at night. If I dim the lights and put on some background music will you please accept that I'm not trying to seduce you?"

Jane's smile might have been a touch wistful as she thought of evenings past but her response was clear. "If music be food of love and all that jazz. I know you wouldn't, so go ahead."

Although he had raised the subject Harry wasn't overly flattered by her reply. Being voluntarily celibate for personal reasons was one thing, the vague implication that he was past performing was quite another. Stupid and unnecessary pride he knew, rather on a par with the implication he didn't do fieldwork due to his age. The mild harrumph he made in response caught Jane's attention. Knowing the nature of men in general, and Harry in particular, she attempted, not entirely felicitously to soothe his affronted masculinity.

"Harry, I'm quite sure that your seduction techniques are as effective as ever, but I also know you're unlikely to fancy chancing them with a woman whose ankle, ribs and shoulder mean that any attendant moans and groans would probably be a product of pain not ecstasy. I'll say one thing for you – you were always just as concerned with your partner's enjoyment as your own."

Harry shook his head, "I'm never sure if you intend to be complimentary or insulting."

"Work that one out for yourself. Meanwhile, dim the lights, put on the music and let's eat."

It was a command, one that Harry was happy to obey. While Jane dished out generous dollops of various gloop smothered Chinese dishes: origin that well known hostelry "The Orient Star" whose closest acquaintanceship with the mystical East probably ended somewhere short of Wapping, Harry busied himself with subduing the glare and pushing a disc of semi romantic compositions for strings into the sound system.

As the soothing music swelled quietly in the background he joined Jane at the table. Although Jane had tried to foreswear obvious curiosity in relation to Harry's personal life it finally overcame her as she began to serve the food.

"So who's Wes? Sorry Uncle Harry but I couldn't avoid overhearing."

"Do you remember me mentioning earlier today the couple who died and left a nine year old child? Wes is their son."

Jane was still puzzled. "Harry I know I'm being a bit dense here. But I thought once someone left the Service all contact was broken, so how come you are still in touch with Wes and Mal..." Blast, she couldn't remember the name of the retired returnee that had so riled Erin.

Harry finished for her. "Malcolm Wynn Jones. Yes normally that is what happens. But Malcolm was such an experienced officer I insisted that we kept him on the books as a contact when he retired. As for Wes..." Harry was wondering how to account for this one without incurring Jane's not unreasonable wrath, given what he'd perpetuated when they were married. Slowly and carefully he struggled to an acceptable explanation. "After Wes's mother died Adam found it difficult to cope so I made sure that every so often we had an evening out with Wes, usually to the dogs," Jane was beginning to grin broadly, "What..."

"It's just the thought of spooks going to the dogs. I love it."

Harry thought it wise not to ask her to elucidate as to why she was so taken the idea. "After Adam died his grandparents felt that it would add to Wes's sense of loss if all contact with those who knew his father was cut, so I visit him at school when I can, take him and his friends out for burgers or to some ear splitting film..." He looked at Jane to see her reaction. "I know Jane after I let our two down so many times you've every right..."

"To shout and scream. Take it as read, I'm too tired tonight. I might prefer to take the view that you've finally started learning from your mistakes. " '_Which is rather more than I've done_" "And at least you survived to make our children feel aggrieved, which is preferable to being deprived."

"I still feel guilty though, possibly more so about Graham. I love him, but I've never managed to connect with him the way I did with Catherine. I know he's always accused me of favouring her."

"Have you ever considered that maybe Graham is part of that problem?" Jane saw his eyes startle at the suggestion. Choosing her words carefully she continued. "A friend of mine has three daughters. She finds it difficult to relate to the youngest because the girl is just difficult. Whatever her mother does is wrong." Before Harry could feel too absolved she continued, "I'm not saying that some of your actions didn't contribute to the problems, frankly they didn't help, but..." She swallowed and then said, "We agreed a truce so I don't want to start picking over past bones yet again; it's not conducive to eating."

"Or drinking." Harry pushed a fairly full wine glass in her direction. Grasping it Jane tacked the conversation towards a slightly different subject.

"At present I doubt that Graham is the most immediate of your relationship problems."

Harry felt a sudden moment of apprehension, was this the moment for the questions that if answered honestly would result in the demolition of the very tentative bridge building he was attempting with the woman opposite? Jane had noticed the abrupt stiffening, the preparation to be defensive or evasive, followed by the equally marked relaxation as she continued to speak.

"I don't think you're Erin's favourite person at the moment. She obviously isn't overly fond of Laura and just as clearly didn't want Malcolm back on the Grid." '_And I was right, it is something to do with a work relationship that's behind your frozen drifting_.'

"I don't suppose I am, but Laura was never going to be bounced out. Everyone has to be on probation because after the first disastrous attempt to replace our analyst..."

"The one who went to the Home Office?"

Harry halted slightly, time for the truth, whole truth and nothing but...pause...deep breath...pass..."Yes." Jane's eyes had darted with acute awareness at the shortness of his tone, '_people move on all the time so ...hmmm_.' Harry, realising that he'd been on the verge of giving himself away, hastened onwards with a diversionary tactic. _'Thank God for military training.'_

"After the experience with the suggested replacement I couldn't risk of my team's sanity, let alone the security of the country without a trial period..."

"That bad!"

Having successfully deflected Jane's curiosity away from his personal concerns Harry plunged into the tale of the three analysts. For once in his life Deborah Langham's uselessness had proved a godsend. By the end of his recital Jane was shaking with merriment. Watching her he was reminded of the carefree happy Jane in the days before life had turned so sour for both of them. Shoulders heaving, eyes glittering with amusement, she managed to stutter out,

"Harry...you...you...rotten..."

Harry was astonished at these words. She was laughing so what had he done wrong now? He was doing his best but face it, the woman was impossible.

Jane finally managed to force out the sentence between guffaws, "You rotten so and so. Fancy giving me a tale like that! Not only can I not share it, every time I see one of the Beckham's on the TV, in print or whatever I'll start smirking. I'll end up being certified...but oh..." With that she was off again.

Harry waited patiently, eating as he did so. When she'd finally finished laughing sufficiently to attack her own plate, he completed his original explanation, "So while I had every intention of keeping Laura, I had to have a reason. Today she gave me one. However she'll not be out on any risky field operations for a while."

"Yes she did mention that you rarely trusted her. I assume you have a reason."

It was a statement not a question. Harry felt inordinately cheered at this indication that Jane was beginning to trust his judgement.

"My reason was called Helen, Laura reminds me of her a little. Helen was keen and I was forced to send her on an operation before she was really ready."

"Was called? What happened?" Had she pushed too far? The look of pain she'd registered earlier had appeared again, but this time unaccompanied by any sense that he was trapped in a faraway landscape.

Harry debated briefly whether he should give her the unexpurgated details, which were not a dinner table topic, but he was trying to be truthful as far as possible, plus Jane was an expert in detecting when he was holding something back.

"Shot through the head ... after they pushed her face into a sizzling deep fat fryer."

Jane suddenly felt her stomach heave as she pushed away the portion of crispy duck she'd been about to consume. "God Harry, are you the only person in the Section to have stayed and lived to tell the tale?" 'W_as I wrong after all – not a woman but a huge sense of survivor guilt?_'

Now he really thought about it Harry realised that in effect he was, certainly as far as past members of the Senior team were concerned. Tom Quinn and Zoe Reynolds had survived, both exiled from the Grid and one living in secrecy in Brazil, and Malcolm of course. Everyone else was...dead. Each and every time he'd mourned the loss; the last most dreadful of which had been Ruth. Each and every time, especially that last occasion he'd wondered how much more emotional agony he could bear. If saying '_that which does not kill you makes you stronger_.' was correct by now he'd be composed of the solid granite of reputation, instead he felt increasingly as if the seams of his sanity were slowly and inexorably fraying. He'd survived thus far only by burying his deepest feelings. Supposing one day they were exhumed?

Jane's comment had not been entirely serious but watching various memories playing across his face, for once utterly readable, she began to wonder afresh as the horrors he'd known while listening to his measured reply.

"Just about, apart from Malcolm, who I'm hoping will return permanently. But don't tell Erin?"

"What do you take me for – No don't answer that. But if you're shorthanded why is she so hostile?"

"As I told you earlier Erin wasn't my original choice and she knows I was forced to keep her." '_And please don't enquire further Jane, this is getting dangerously close to the events I daren't discuss with anyone, least of all you.'_ He continued before she could intervene. "That isn't a problem for me, she's the best around but it's made her slightly insecure and as she brought Calum with her she's ..."

"Worried that your choice displaces hers." Thinking back to the Briefing Room discussion she commented, "But Calum didn't seem bothered. Surely he's the one to make the protest if necessary."

"Calum knows more about that field and I think he's looking forward to working with someone who understands geek speak." Aware that this was a trifle denigrating to the well read Malcolm he added, "Although Malcolm is also a Times crossword and literature man."

"And therefore I assume about our age. I can see why you want him back, an ally in the kindergarten." Before he could protest she smiled, "I know the feeling. I'm something of a relic myself these days. It's politically incorrect to refer to a blackboard, let alone admit that you ever taught effectively using one."

They had both finished eating, the remnants of the meal lying on the table. As Jane leant back relaxing in her chair Harry decided that he had to tackle the elephant in the room, Jane's Jumbo of course, his own, bearing him on its back, was hopelessly lumbering towards the proverbial graveyard.

"Jane I should have asked. If you came to visit Catherine early was it because you needed to visit a publisher, or do research, or something?"

At once she began to look uncomfortable again. "Something is about right. I simply needed to get away." The hurt in her eyes was evident as she finished. "Harry. I'll cry on your shoulder about our daughter, but the rest. Let's just say I made my choices and you've no responsibility for that. You have your own troubles."

She'd rarely spoken a truer word, but Harry was still furious with Robin for having the audacity to firstly steal away his family, and then follow up that offence by treating Jane with such bullying contempt.

"If my behaviour in any way influenced those choices then I am responsible."

Jane felt his concern but was still fighting shy of trusting him. "None of your business Harry, really it isn't."

"Jane – I heard what Graham yelled and I also heard this." In sheer frustration Harry produced his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and played back the recorded message. When Robin's dulcet tones had finally faded out he looked at Jane. The expression on her face was difficult to interpret.

"Jane I really want to help. I can't help feeling responsible for you."

The initial response was rage, fury that after all her attempts to keep her secrets, they'd been revealed. "You really do have the most excessive guilt complex I've ever come across. You're Harry bloody Pearce, to part quote my husband, not Atlas carrying the world on his shoulder or Jesus Christ dying for the sins of one and all."

Even as she shouted it Jane knew that in reality she only wished she could bring herself to confide in him. She was no longer worried that he'd simply laugh and walk away. During the course of the last few hours she'd mentally reviewed every argument they'd had since the divorce and concluded that the root cause wasn't his lack of care, as she had so frequently insisted, but her stubborn refusal to recognise its existence. And that was the problem, for years she'd treated him like a pesky fly, or a stone in her shoe, an irritating nuisance that she wanted to be rid of. How after all the grief she'd given him could she be hypocrite enough to accept what he was offering?

Harry, desperate for her trust was wondering how he could persuade her. What price did she think he would extract from her? His offer came more or less string free, although he'd admit to wanting to remain on civilised terms. "Jane that is not the point. You know I'm bad at discussing emotions but do you really think that I'd ever have tried to keep you with me through blackmail?"

His implied assumption that because her second marriage had fallen disastrously short of being the idyll she'd expected he was therefore shriven of his matrimonial crimes caught her on the raw.

"No, you just expected me to put up with your absences, your moods, plus your endless screwing of other women. I could have coped with the honeytraps as disgusting part of the job, I might even have managed to deal with the one night stands, your affair with Juliet tried me to the limit, but when it came to Susan...one of my best friends and you were..."

"Doing absolutely nothing with her."

"Liar."

They both stared at the other, aghast with flaring anger. How, Harry wondered, had they arrived at this point from their previous amicable discussion, and what was she talking about. The sight of Jane lashing herself into a temper finally stirred a long forgotten memory. Shortly before she'd called time on their marriage one of her very fanciable friends, knowing his university reputation, had made unmistakably intimate overtures. Harry's various adulteries had stopped short of humiliating Jane by shagging any of her so called friends. He'd had rather more respect for her than that, quite aside from the fact that women gossiped. He'd never told her about the incident because by that stage their marriage was so fragile he didn't expect Jane to believe that any of her so called chums would have shoved their hand down his trousers without an open invitation to do so. The irony; that the infidelity that had hurt her the most had only existed in the feverish, revenge driven imagination of her rejected friend.

"Jane I swear. I... we didn't. I'll confess to a trouser fumble but only because she touched me. I turned her down."

The look she gave him was appraising, arch deceiver as Harry had been in the past, and probably still was when occasion demanded, her words had plainly caught him unawares. His shock and reply lacked the smoothness of his usual lies. If he was acting then he was giving an Oscar winning performance and after all these years did it really matter now, their marriage had been past salvaging for several reasons. Crucially would she have believed him? No, she knew she wouldn't have, then. "Very well I accept your word. But it still doesn't make you responsible for me and my choices."

She'd believed him; progress. Limited but progress. "You can argue all you like about that one Jane, it won't change how I feel. More importantly I'm not just thinking about you, I'm thinking about Graham and Catherine." The puzzled expression deepened, when he ended with a gulp, "as I may not be around for much longer."

Jane wasn't enlightened, "But surely Harry as a desk officer you're safe enough, unless." An alarmed thought flew into her mind, "You're not..."

Harry realising the track her mind strayed onto hurriedly reassured her, "No I'm not dying. Well no more than any of us are although desk officers do get killed." _'Colin, Tariq, Ruth...don't Harry, stay focussed on Jane, what do I say.._.?' "But..." Dimitri's hesitant advice floated into his mind,_ 'perhaps you need to trust her first._' "Jane, not even my team know this, so please this is top secret. Do you remember us discussing the move to extradite me? We talked about it in the Briefing Room."

"Yes of course I do, but wasn't it cancelled?"

"Correct. But an agreement is on the table that would reactivate it. I won't be able to fight it and so..."

Jane was truly shocked. Any idea that Harry was once again lying to manipulate her died the second she looked into his eyes. The weariness with which he spoke worried her even more than the ingrained sorrow that seemed to haunt him. Harry just didn't do giving in, he'd fought every obstacle he'd ever met but now he seemed resigned to his fate. Jane decided that she wasn't overly keen on the remodelled careworn version. On balance she'd prefer to see the resurrection of Harry the cunning charmer, with devilment in his eyes and mischief in his voice, perhaps with just a seasoning of maturity and a sprinkling of emotional articulation.

"Harry, you don't have to worry about Robin's threat. He was angry but he won't carry it out. I can cause trouble for him and he won't risk that."

Harry's expression didn't imply that this mollified him in the slightest. Fighting for a way to obtain her trust the best he could come up with was, "Maybe but you're obviously carrying an excess in the emotional baggage department. Consider me a porter and let me help you carry it."

"You've enough troubles of your own Harry." The slight flicker of alarm in his eyes confirmed her suspicions, as she continued smoothly, "Catherine, Section D, politicians. And I've never been totally convinced by the Maria Theresa attitude to pain, physical or emotional."

Harry was reduced to a bemused gawp. "Errr, what do you mean?"

"Empress of Austria, had umpteen kids and was a busy lady. If she needed to have tooth pulled she waited until she went into labour on the theory that one pain cancelled out the other."

"Which role are you casting me in, the midwife with dirty hands who killed countless people they were supposed to be helping, or the tooth puller who caused pain and was avoided whenever possible?" It was a lowering thought but at a pinch he'd fit either description.

Jane just stared at him. Considering. Would it do any real damage to confide in him? What exactly was she worried about, Robin's safety? Hardly. How long could she cope with the current situation anyway? What was stopping her , misplaced pride? But Harry already knew some details through no revelation of hers. She supposed the bottom line was that she felt humiliated in weeping on the shoulder of her ex-husband after so many years of decrying him. Looking at Harry, waiting silently for her answer she was once again reminded of the basic dichotomy in his character, the contrast between Harry the warm hearted, charming, cultured man who was currently staring at her and the flinty, work alcoholic, devious servant of the state. She'd been wrong, he wasn't Atlas; he was Janus, facing two ways, torn down the middle and probably just as confused by the situation they found themselves in as she was.

Tired of awaiting a response Harry had begun to speak quietly. "I've told you why I need you to tell me what is going on. Last night you accused me of always having an agenda. You're right and this is it. Something is wrong in your life and I'd like to try to fix it, if I can. This isn't just about you, me and our past. It's about our obligation to our children. They may be adults but they need a parent they can turn to. As that parent will have to be you I need to know that you aren't being distracted by the antics of that shit filled twerp. I've messed up all your lives and.."

"Harry, stop flogging yourself with nettles. You're an MI5 officer not a flagellant. It wasn't all your fault. You've been a better parent than Robin was step-parent. Once... long story. Sorry I'm getting old. I keep repeating myself."

"Tonight I've got the time to listen, the CIA haven't come calling yet." Standing up Harry poured two generous refills of wine, "Shall we sit in the more comfortable chairs. You stretch on the sofa, I'll take the armchair."

Realising that the resistance she didn't want to make was useless, Jane sank into the more relaxed seating, her back and ankle propped up by the sofa cushions. Taking a deep breath she cradled her glass of wine and prepared to tell her story.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have moment. **_


	22. Chapter 22

_**Apologies for the delay and many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. **_

* * *

_Harry House. Approx 10.30 pm_

It was one thing to decide to confide in Harry, quite another to actually do so. As Jane opened her mouth she was reminded of the goldfish they'd once bought the children as pets. Lips curving in movement with no sound emitted. Possibly, like Jane, the goldfish had been uttering a silent scream at the stripping away of its last vestige of personal privacy.

Harry, who had settled into his chair, was maintaining a Trappist style rule of silence, which was about the only monastic characteristic he could ever lay claim to. He knew from his training that few could withstand endless silence, usually, eventually, the desire to fill that echoing gap became overwhelming. While he completely understood why Jane was struggling with the concept of trusting him he could only bide his time until she found her own route to narrating the details that had remained locked inside her for months. He sat back, sipping his wine as he waited**, **not unaware that he treating her as a subject for interrogation. Regnum Defende continued to cast its long shadow across their intertwined lives.

After a few minutes Jane demonstrated the truth of the theory as she finally began to murmur haltingly, "It's difficult to know where to start. In retrospect I think the fault lines were beginning to appear around the time you rescued Catherine in the Lebanon. I just didn't realise it. I suppose the whole situation was a little like walking on ice." She paused to gather her thoughts. "You think it's secure, you don't notice the small hairline cracks, when you do they seem so small so you ignore them. Gradually they deepen, but you still think the ice will bear your weight so you try to patch them up and then one day you turn around and realise that despite your best efforts you're drifting on an ice floe, alone, not sure how you got there or how to escape."

Her voice held a note of such distress that Harry, despite his earlier vow to remain mute, decided a prompt was in order, "So when did the cracks start and how?"

"I suppose you could say ambition and age – not mine, Robin's. He decided that careerwise he was in a rut and needed to give the world at large the benefit of his expertise."

The biting contempt with which she uttered the last few words suggested that Jane's travails hadn't completely reduced her to the status of a wet rag. While her tone was music to Harry's ears his stilled tongue lay in grave danger of being bitten through so firmly were his teeth clamped together. Harry could still recall in microscopic detail the nauseating, overblown praise Jane had bestowed upon Robin at the start of their affair. Considerations relating to the ethics of bugging her as he sought to confirm his suspicions, or the fact that he himself was hardly a pattern card of fidelity, had weighed lightly in that particular balance. Her furious protests that she was being maligned had also cut no ice with an aggrieved, irate Harry. At the time he'd believed that her innocence, if any, had been purely technical. If the thought was father to the deed then she'd been shadowed everywhere by Robin's invisible progeny. And the idea that she'd been gagging for it with that smarmy prat...! Going into battle with the good old double standard swirling proudly above his head Harry's fists had substituted where words had failed him. The technicolor regression into times past was interrupted by her next words.

"So he took on part time work with OFTED plus he got himself head hunted by one of those private companies that makes a fortune out of employing talented, experienced educational experts to go around schools advising staff on how to improve their performance and be inspirational teachers."

'_The only thing he'd ever inspire in most right thinking males is a desire to punch him, hard_. _ I never did notice whether or not_ _his nose mended straight?__**'**_

For once his face must have conveyed his thoughts with exactitude for she added defensively, "I know your opinion, but I'll give Robin that he was a good Headmaster and he'd been in post for years. I understood why he wanted to do something different. I suppose that most of us, when we hit our fifties, become aware of time passing. Now or never. We all need to reappraise before we've retired with regrets for things not attempted."

It was perhaps fortunate for Harry that Jane was staring into her wineglass as she sought for the inspiration with which to continue along her pathway of self mortification, otherwise her normally piercing gaze would have spotted his momentary stricken look as her words struck him with the force of a hurricane. Calling upon the mantra of '_self control, self denial'_ voiced so long ago to the woman, who in his mind, personified the regrets of his lifetime, he reminded himself firmly that this discussion was not about him, it was about Jane. The contrast though; his divorce from Jane had been due to the absence of that hard won control. His never quite complete relationship with Ruth had suffered from its ruthless application; neither of them putting their personal desires first, until those three final minutes before ... Alerted by the absence of sound he returned his attention to Jane who remained uncharacteristically speechless. Spurred on by an overwhelming urge to breach her dam of secrecy he ventured a leading question.

"So what was the problem then?" '_Apart from his entire personality._'

It was the battering ram she'd needed. "The real difficulties began to rear their heads gradually over the next eighteen months or so. You see that sort of post, job, contract, call it what you will, if you want to become a big noise..."

"And I assume that Robin did." _'Breaking wind and shit from more than one orifice in the process.'_

"Yes, and that involves some assiduous networking which requires a fair amount of entertaining and being entertained, nothing wrong with that ... I suppose." The downbeat inflection with which she uttered this implied a certain lack of conviction. Harry, accustomed to the fawning shoals of the political and Old Boy network, had no difficulty in empathising with her understated abhorrence. Lost in fellow feeling he nearly missed her next statement, "but the conversation tended to be shop, mainly revolving around the schools they went into. Remember I was still a classroom teacher dealing with the multitude of issues and pressures we face every day. The way the assembled company spoke about their client schools..." Jane was attempting to keep her voice even, but Harry detected a definite undertow of indignation, ''... no recognition of the problems, no follow through or return to advise or even see how it would work...it was as if they were talking about a race of sub standard morons. Whenever I tried to venture a contrary opinion – and I promise you I wasn't strident - it was as if I was a non person."

"And Robin –what was his view?" '_Which got browner I wonder, his nose or his tongue?_'

"Variable. His material and advice was good and practical, classroom based. I've no objection to advisers as such, but it needs to be tailored to individual circumstance and part of an ongoing programme. Privately Robin was asking for my input. Publicly he didn't want to support my opinions in case it damaged his prospects. I didn't like it, but tried to understand his point."

"Which was?"

Jane's entire demeanour indicated the unhappiness that she'd striven to deny for months. "He needed these people for work so could I please remember that, and also that ultimately he was on my side."

'_Just in case they realised that he was a hypocritical shit who was creaming off your skills without even a thank you_.'

Harry presumed that Jane's reluctance to confide in him sprang from her recognition that Harry had been right all along about his successor. The relief he felt in Jane's acknowledgment of Robin's true colours was drowned in anger the instant he met those agonised but searching grey eyes pleading for his understanding. How could Robin have treated her so badly? But then had he himself been any better as a husband? The internal debate as to which of them had proved the crappier partner would, for now, have to take a back seat to Jane's continuing explanation.

"The final straw for me was when we had to give a dinner party, I forget why. Anyway there I was in my own home having to listen for the umpteenth time to someone who hasn't really worked in the field on a regular basis for years..."

He couldn't resist, "You mean you entertained the DG..."noting the Jane glare he apologised, "Sorry."

Jane decided to ignore his interjection. "As I said, I was sitting there listening to my classroom colleagues being slagged off for the umpteenth time, and thinking, this is my home, I have a good degree from a top university, years of experience and my opinions are just as valid as yours. So I made a few choice comments to the effect that before we had the requirement to drag IT into every lesson and spend endless hours on student centred learning projects results seemed to be better, plus reading books happens to be a prerequisite in my subject."

"And Robin?" '_Tell me he at least had the balls to defend you_.'

"Just sat there agreeing that perhaps I needed a refresher in modern teaching methods." Harry, watching Jane reliving the experience could only imagine the fire banked fury of the occasion. Her next words confirmed this, "Well you can imagine the row after they left. Let's just say that we indulged ourselves in a mutual recrimination session during which the terms Luddite and Quisling were used quite extensively. I ended the argument by refusing to accompany him to any more evenings like that, and saying that if he wanted a designer accessory for a wife he shouldn't have married me." Jane paused, she could see by the darkening of Harry's eyes that his temper was rising, and so far she'd only served up the entree.

Harry, suppressing his emotions, managed a bland response, "I'm assuming thereafter that you weren't top of the dinner guest list."

"Shame wasn't it. Anyway I thought we'd reached an accommodation, if he felt he had to go he went on his own while I made an excuse. Then we moved to yuppie land, another of Robin's notions as he fancied life in the country."

'_I'll be he did, patronising the locals no doubt.'_

"Actually I was quite in favour of the idea. The opportunity to enjoy the changing seasons, take the odd walk without being mown down by a speeding cyclist." She gave a small sigh, "That was before I discovered that we were considered acceptable for admission into the Sunday drinks and summer barbeque crowd. As I was still truanting from the dinner party circuit I compromised by accompanying him to those excruciating events. Suffice it to say that it's a minor miracle that I didn't become a raving alcoholic trying to survive through them."

Harry did begin to wonder as to whether she was gilding the story slightly, "Come on Jane, drinks and food aren't bad, it couldn't be any worse than the political receptions I'm forced to attend."

That opinion was instantly slapped down. "At least you can say it's work and you have the opportunity for some intelligent conversation. '_Jane if I ever introduce you to any politicians you'll be taking that one back.'_ For your information these occasions consisted of Robin waltzing around the crowd doing the great I am, leaving me stuck on a sofa listening to a group of women who fancy that they justify their existence by becoming professional mothers. To which end they indulge in never ending oneupmanship relating to their high achieving children. To give you some idea of the sheer bloody social torture, this group includes the woman Laura rang today, who endless witters about the brilliance of her terminally dim offspring, plus another who thinks that because her daughters take riding lessons they've joined the county set. For obvious reasons I'm vague about Graham. My son the reformed junkie wouldn't cut it, although they'd probably think I was being ironical, and I daren't mention Catherine."

For the first time in her autobiographical catch up Harry was cross with her. "Jane. I appreciate why you keep quiet about Graham, but Catherine is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know that. Actually I'm very proud of her, not least for retaining her sanity in the midst of warring parents, her needy brother and a posturing stepfather, but most of these people have children who think they're God's gift to the arts, especially Emma Winnick. If I once mention my daughter the filmmaker..."

Harry's lips twitched, "Apologies for misunderstanding. I'd have been tempted to introduce her. I can just imagine what Catherine would do with such a pretentious crowd."

"So can I, but unfortunately I do live there." She paused before saying, "And now this is where you do need to keep a grip on your temper Harry."

He registered the ominous quiver in her voice. "I'll try, but no promises I can't keep, not any longer where you're concerned anyway."

Taking a deep breath Jane pressed onwards, "Our compromise was just about working. Then the new Head was appointed at the school I was working in. I'll not repeat what I told you earlier, but what I didn't say is that he's highly regarded as an innovator. Obviously I didn't like him but when he and Robin came across each other at a conference they got on like a house of fire, one that had been petrol bombed. It made the recent love in the Downing Street garden look like a preliminary divorce hearing. Next thing I know Robin's been invited onto the governing body as an associate governor. Result, not only am I having to spend my time coping with the havoc this over praised plonker is creating at school but I have to spend my evenings, when Robin was at home, being told how wonderful the bloke is and how I'm really – well it was like the dinner party row all over again, I'm out of date etc."

Harry cast her look of sympathy, "Welcome to the dinosaur club," adding, "I think Erin thought I'd give Laura her cards for that comment but I don't fire people for being truthful. I've been called worse."

"True, mainly by me. I'm not apologising by the way, you deserved it."

Harry let that pass, curiosity overcoming his desire to argue against the inarguable. "So Jane what happened with Robin being on the governing body when you where assaulted by that pupil?"

Jane's face displayed the residual pain as she sought for the words. "Basically he was on the Head's side. I was out of date, ought to go, he was sure he could fix for me to take early retirement. He didn't want the embarrassment of his wife being dismissed, not good for his career and mine was now washed up." Jane's glance at Harry informed her that he was still in control of his emotions, but the flushing of his face suggested it was hardly won battle.

'_Self control, self denial – it has its uses.'_

"I was really furious as I knew that I'd done my job correctly and this was an excuse to hang me out to dry. _'God I know that feeling.'_ I wasn't going to crawl away and I was angry that he seemed only concerned with himself."

The unspoken thought was unavoidable, "_He always was_. _I did try to tell you Jane. I only wish you had sussed him earlier, like about twenty five years ago. We may still have divorced but perhaps we'd have remained on reasonable terms..?' _Pulling away from that speculation Harry redirected his concentration towards Jane's personal soap opera.

"After I told him that I now knew from whence Graham had acquired his '_me, me, me'_ attitude, I shouted that I was going down fighting whatever the consequences. In retrospect I think that might have been when our marriage really began to die."

As Jane paused to take a final refreshing swig of her wine Harry asked as gently he could, "But Graham..what he said...that was much later wasn't it?" _'So_ _where does the teenage temptress come in?'_

"I said it began to die, not that rigour mortis had set in. Robin was away quite a lot, with increased contacts and inspections. Then I landed my current part time post and gradually began to move into publishing, the odd bit of lecturing and advising, a little ironical I know considering my earlier attitude but I do insist on return visits and progress checks. That meant I was often away as well. We were therefore avoiding one another quite satisfactorily. Having begun to be a little more high profile I wasn't quite the liability Robin had anticipated. In fact he was quite keen to parade me around but although we never mentioned it I couldn't forget that when push came to shove he'd have seen me professional neutered. I decided though, forgive me for saying this Harry; that I'd been in a difficult marriage before and I could cope, that perhaps eventually we'd rediscover what we'd had, so I endured the local get togethers, did my odd bit of charming on the few formal occasions we had to attend as a couple. Basically though we were living together but rarely together in any other way. I'm sure several marriages survive on those terms."

Harry could see the logic but he persisted. For once Graham's anger would seem to have been fully justifed, even if the same could not be said for the methods by which he'd expressed it. "So Graham's accusation?"

Looking at the clock Jane noted it was approaching eleven so she understood Harry's need to move on. "Getting there." By her face she'd obviously reached the most difficult part of her story. "About eighteen months ago or so Graham happened to see Robin in London, with another woman. Quite where I've never known. According to Graham he had his arms around her and was fumbling her in a very unplatonic way. Robin didn't notice him so Graham followed and saw them checking into a cheap hotel. I don't know how he did it but he managed to discover the hotel room and tracked them to the door. He listened at the keyhole and ... well do I need to..."

"No we'll take what he overheard as said. I'll spare you the next bit, Graham contacted you, you refused to believe him and then he threw a tantrum and cut off contact as an injured innocent."

"More or less; except I began to wonder. I'd fielded a couple of phone calls over the previous two months from Robin's office personnel under the impression that he was working from home. The more I thought about it a few things didn't quite add up so..."

"You needed proof." '_And if she caught me out you stood no chance Robin, but how?'_

She nodded at that. "I thought emails would be good place to start, Robin, I knew keeps all his passwords on a spreadsheet, he once boasted about it.

'_Is there anything he doesn't boast about?'_

"So I waited until he was in his study, pretended I was going to take a bath and rang the landline from the bathroom, on caller blocked obviously. While he went downstairs I flushed the toilet to disguise any noise, popped into the study, noted down the passwords and dived back into the bathroom."

As she said this Harry was gazing at her with an expression in which admiration and amusement co-mingled, a direct contrast to the shamefaced expression that was residing on Jane's face. Her next statement explained her lack of pride. "No Harry I'm not proud of myself. I hate spying and being spied upon. You of all people should know that, considering why I finally gave up on our marriage."

Ignoring the last reference to events that still seared him Harry remarked, "Pity, I was beginning to think Erin might have been right when she wondered if you'd been recruited without my knowing." Before Jane could reply he asked, "I presume your espionage bore some fruit?"

"I found some emails. I don't know the girl's name, she signed with a pseudonym. For that matter she gave Robin one as well, at least I assume he was the Snuggle Bunny of the salutation."

Balefully eyeing a choking Harry, who'd suddenly been assailed by a vision of Robin sporting floppy ears and a cotton wool tail, she paused for a moment. Harry, having managed to straighten his face, was idly wondering what the girl had called herself. A curiosity that was quickly satisfied. "She referred to herself as Smoochie Babe and no, I didn't say anything to him, I hoped the affair would pass over. As she was very young I thought she'd get bored with being a side show, I couldn't see what she was getting out of it." At Harry's raised eyebrow she added, "Well apart from the obvious."

Although the reasons for Jane's reluctance to discuss her marriage were becoming clearer to Harry they were being displaced by an even more opaque puzzle. While he fully appreciated now, even if he hadn't when she'd finally left him, that Jane had remained in their marriage despite its being well past the sell by date, they had had two children to consider. Even with that link to bind them she had eventually walked away, so why on earth, after that discovery, had she stayed in an arid second marriage from which she was getting nothing whatsoever, other than endless grief from Snuggle Bunny. There was only one way to find out.

"Jane I do understand why you'd decided to make the best of a bad job until you found that evidence. But ...well ..." His words petered out but he'd said enough. Jane slumped back against the sofa in a posture of defeat as she replied.

"Why after everything else didn't I walk? A couple of weeks previously my sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I simply didn't think I could deal with Robin's shenanigans, work and be around for her. Not if I wanted to avoid going back onto the anti depressants and I was desperate to avoid that scenario. Graham did get in touch again but just wouldn't understand why I was turning a blind eye. While I concentrated on helping Rebecca I was working on the assumption that if the affair continued Robin would leave me. At least that way I'd be spared the strain of making the decision. I hated myself for being so passive but..."

From her face she was apparently expecting a wholesale condemnation from him. It would be easy to give it, but Harry remembered the sheer devastation he'd felt when, shortly after their divorce, his father and brother had died in quick succession. It had been a torrid two years, with no one and nothing to live for he'd sought continual solace in draining the whisky bottle. It was mainly thanks to the careful handling of Clive McTaggert, the then head of Section D that he'd finally crawled out of that raw, angry, near suicidal depression and thrown himself into work. Unbidden it struck him that the events of a few months ago had created a reprise of near matching intensity, read Malcolm for Clive and Ruth for...no the cases weren't the same, he'd been angry with Jane, his sibling, his father for leaving him, how could he ever be angry at Ruth...she'd saved his life...and left him to mourn... and ...and this wasn't about him, it was about Jane and after what that total shit had put her through; correction was putting her through, she was in desperate need of some positive affirmation.

Emotional support was not his long suit, as he'd once told a very different woman he had distinct limitations in that department, but seeing Jane so troubled he had to make a stab at comforting her, however inadequate. Depositing his now empty wineglass on the coffee table he leaned forward and grasped her unresisting hands. "To quote one of your favourite authors, 'when sorrows come they come not single spies but in battalions.' Jane whatever else you may be you are not weak. Only you knew the circumstances and how much you could take before cracking up. You made a pragmatic decision that you could always deal with Robin later but that your sister had to be your priority given how debilitating cancer treatment can be."

Pep talk over, he released her hands, sank back in his chair and took refuge in the pragmatic. "How is she holding up?" He couldn't stand his ex-sister in law, who wholeheartedly returned the loathing, but at least she'd always been supportive of Jane and their children. Also, she had had Jane's interests at heart which made her marginally more tolerable than Robin. What did Rebecca know about Jane's current trials – probably nothing?

Well versed in Harry's feelings about her sister Jane was gratefully surprised by the olive branch, "She's more or less in the clear now. Thankfully it was caught at an early stage. When she got the latest results a few weeks ago I decided I had to tackle the Robin problem. He'd been no help during Rebecca's illness. Plus just as she got the modified all clear I was checking his trouser pockets prior to sending some of his clothes to the dry cleaners. I found a receipt for a week long stay in a very expensive hotel in the Lake District. A week when, according to his desk diary, he was attending a conference in London."

"Are you sure about that Jane, sometimes venues are changed and he might have had to claim back on expenses." Why was he defending Robin? The answer snapped into his mind, he needed to know that Jane was sure of her facts.

"That did occur to me. I hadn't been checking his emails, he's fanatical about changing passwords every so often. The number of times I could pull the bathroom trick was limited and ignorance, if not exactly bliss, was the easier option. Anyway I managed to get his latest code, this time by waiting until he'd logged on and then shouting that we had intruders at the back of the garden. The next time he was out networking I sneaked a look. Smoochie Babe had obviously insisted that they go upmarket as she had sent an email not only thanking Snuggle Bunny for a lovely week, she'd actually sent him a video from her phone as a memento." Her face was rigid with distaste. "Do I need to go into the details? Seeing their cavorting was bad enough."

He respected her feelings. The prospect of watching the obnoxious Robin in the buff enjoying coitus was summoning up images that Harry really didn't want buzzing around his brain. "I know, whenever I've been forced to do that type of surveillance I've found myself agreeing with Lord Chesterfield." As Jane glanced up he launched into the second quote of the evening. "The pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous and the expense damnable."

"Huh. Pity you hadn't considered that when we were married."

"The cost isn't always monetary Jane." A hard won truth, Juliet and various anonymous incidents had cost him Jane; Elena had ultimately cost him Ruth. Before he could descend back into his now customary pit of despair his attention was arrested by Jane's next statement.

"Anyway it wasn't just the position; it was the outfits that got to me." Since for a moment Harry wasn't sure he believed his ears he could easily comprehend Jane's stunned reaction. "He was dressed as a schoolboy while she pranced around wearing an academic gown and black underwear giving him the odd thwack with a cane." Unthinkingly Harry blurted out, "Why pupils and teachers? I'd have thought that was a bit close to home, now tarts and vicars might have been more like it. Er I hate to sound prurient but did..." Jane's face was enough to halt him. "Sorry I know it's not funny but ..."

Jane's glare softened slightly as she sighed, "I suppose in your shoes I'd feel the same. And in answer to the question you pulled back from, no I had no idea at all. That side of our life had declined considerably, which I'd put down to estrangement and time, I mean women can fake, but as they age men do tend to..." Jane wanted to be tactful, she'd suddenly remembered that Harry was nearing sixty. Was that the problem with the mystery relationship? "...have difficulties...er...rising to the occasion...well I don't need to spell it out do I? I assume that was his way of getting stimulated." Having told Harry this much she bit her lip in embarrassment as she faltered, "And... God this is mortifying... but I think Smoochie Babe may have been faking. Let's just say that I know from experience that Robin can't tell...and during the last two years...he'd moan that I was frigid...well it was easier to pretend and get it over with. "

Harry felt a wholly inappropriate sense of triumph which he subdued in an attempt to reassure Jane. "From the privileged position – _'oops'_ ... sorry no pun intended, of being your ex I'd be inclined to lay the blame for that at Robin's door." His sentence completed, an unpleasant misgiving shoot through his mind. Had she conned him as well as Robin? He dismissed the possibility. Circumstances may have converted him into one of life's non sexual combatants, but since it seemed improbable that every single woman or, for that matter every married one, he'd ever bedded had graduated from RADA Robin was the one with the problem, and, judging by Jane's anecdotal evidence, a limited skill set.

Jane didn't demur as she reached the penultimate part of her narrative. "I was still reeling from this one when Robin arrived home, possibly envigorated by a refreshing session of whipping to announce that we were going to hold a drinks party for his friends and contacts whether I liked it or not as he'd was fed up with my unsupportive attitude. That's when I told him I'd had enough and wanted to separate. Then he uttered the blackmail threat you heard, with the rider that my ex-Head would be happy to endorse a version that stated I'd been propositioning the teenager who attacked me."

Harry Pearce prided himself on being unshockable, but this final extended revelation of Robin's threat brought forth a roar that made the wine glasses rattle. "What...but Jane the incident was three years ago, you told me that, so how could they make it stick?"

Jane replied sharply, "They probably couldn't. But Harry, you've almost certainly destroyed reputations with less. It's not true, but even the suggestion would finish me professionally. No school could employ me. Guilty until proven innocent and while it was self defence I did assault the thug." Seeing Harry's dawning awareness that the risk was genuine she added with some asperity, "No responsible Head would take that chance. In the prevailing climate anyone who works which children is constantly under suspicion. Yes Harry even if you're female -although why any mature women would want to risk her job by seducing a spotty teenage male who's almost certainly acquired some very strange ideas about sex courtesy of Internet porn I don't know."

Harry was crimson with fury. He understood the bloody problem, the only glimmer of pleasure he could take was purely personal. If Robin got his kicks from being scourged then Harry could see his way clear to providing him with several hours of compulsory fun, although they'd have to dispense with a suitably accoutred female presence. Harry made it a rule to do his own dirty work and the one occasion he'd gone undercover in a drag club had been enough. Not even for the mouth watering opportunity of revenge on Snuggle Bunny was he going to relive being draped in an outfit that had proved to be extremely draughty, courtesy of the skirt, stocking and suspender combo he'd been forced to wear. Nor did he think he could mete out appropriate justice to Robin while wobbling on pair of crippling stilettos and most certainly he was never ever again going plaster his face with enough slap to make a belisha beacon seem modest**. **He'd plan their mutual, but frockless, gratification session later**. **For the moment though he needed Jane to complete her tale.

"What did you say to him?" '_Myself I'm aiming for deeds not words'_

"I was shocked so I decided to look as if I was complying. Robin had to go away again, possibly for more role play with Smoochie Babe, but he thought I'd come into line. The nearer the drinks party approached the more I knew that I simply couldn't face an evening of everyone telling me what a wonderful man Robin was, and I certainly didn't want total strangers looking at my taste in books and other items. In the end I put them into a secure lock up, organised an outside caterer, on Robin's credit card of course, and headed to Catherine's."

Finally finished she stared down at her feet as she said in a chastened voice. "I'm wondering why I was such a fool to fall for him – why didn't I see him for what he is."

A few months previously Harry would have agreed with her but that was before he'd discovered that he'd been deceived for years by Elena. Had his judgement been any better? The answer to that degrading question made him stamp down any temptation to either gloat or pity. Neither reaction would be of the slightest practical use and would only add to Jane's sense of humiliation. Instead he gave a considered reply.

"Well you've come to your senses finally, which is all that matters to me. Now, as you've crossed your own personal Rubicon what exactly did you mean by causing trouble for Robin?"

"Ah I took a copy of Smoochie Babe's video. It's on a memory stick in the lock up. I thought I could promise to put it on the Internet, take him down with me if he carries out his threat. He won't risk it."

Harry, while impressed with her inventiveness shuddered inwardly at the possible consequences. "Before you do anything that could be construed as criminal I'd prefer it if you left it to me to try and sort things out for you." He added with a slight grin, "Despite your late flowering talent at skulduggery I'm still much better at it than you."

Jane, relieved to have finished, and thankful for his restraint in not crowing, gave him a sardonic twinkle in return. "It must be a legacy from living with you for all those years."

That was more like the Jane he remembered and preferred.

"Nice to know I had my uses. Even so I'd never have dared suggest that you whipped me. I know how thorough you are." Before she could reply he continued, "Assuming that you are finally minded to dump that wart I'd suggest we arrange it as quickly as possible."

Jane, picking up on the 'we' opened her mouth to protest. "But Harry..."

"No buts. I've told you why I want to help and now we reach the crucial question. In view what you've said about infidelity corroding trust and our...sorry... my past behaviour, will you trust me to pull you out of the marital swamp?"

* * *

**_If anyone would like me to write in a confrontation between Harry and Robin please let me know. It wasn't originally planned so I need to make some minor alterations to future chapters and the timeline._**

**_Thanks for reading and please review if you have a moment. _**


	23. Chapter 23

**Once again many thanks to those who read and even more thanks to those who reviewed. **

* * *

_Harry's House 11.00pm approx_

Waiting for Jane to reply Harry admitted to himself that actually it didn't much matter how she responded. For him the main issue had ceased to be whether or not he was going to rescue her from the clutches of the appalling Robin: he was. With or without her consent Robin was going to get his comeuppance. Harry wasn't going to waste time and thought attempting to convince himself that his motives were entirely chivalrous, but any actions he indulged in would be more on account of the maltreated Jane than motivated by his unexpected opportunity for personal triumph. If revenge was a dish best eaten cold, Robin and all his works had been stored in Harry's emotional deep freeze for around twenty five years and counting. For once patience was a virtue that might just garner an unscrupulous reward.

No: examined objectively, the real difficulty lay, not in extracting Jane from a relationship that he could only characterise as abusive, that would be easy: the major difficulty lay in finding a way that would enable her to emerge, if not exactly trailing clouds of Chanel Number Five, at least with her credibility intact. Harry had carved out his formidable reputation largely through his uncanny knack of successfully second guessing what the enemy would do next. Consequently he was under no illusion as to the reaction of a thwarted Robin. The probability was that the amount of shit he was about to dump over Jane would, under other circumstances, keep the Royal Parks supplied with enough manure to last them for the rest of the decade. It didn't take much imagination to know the line that Robin would attempt to spin: unsupportive wife, career focussed, possibly depressive, hostile to his efforts to help her, with her final move being to accuse him of cheating, unfairly of course. Well this time Harry was blowing the whistle, that plausible bastard wasn't going to get away with his lies and smarm, if it was the last thing Harry ever did. For preference, of course, he'd prefer it if any attempt smear Jane was the last thing Robin ever did. Unfortunately even if she agreed to Harry's proposition she was likely to baulk at extreme measures, which was probably just as well. Harry was so angry with Robin he needed someone to keep him grounded.

In that assumption he was quite correct. For Jane, recovering from her odyssey of revelation, the main question was exactly what punishment Harry was proposing to inflict upon her erring husband. Her words, when they came, proved once more to a musing Harry that she knew his thought processes a little too well for comfort, and also that her recall of the less pleasant episodes of their marriage meant she was not deceived by the suggestion she had an option.

"Harry, don't insult me by pretending that I have a choice. If I say no, you'll go ahead anyway."

So far, so good. Now to check just how far he could go. "I'll take that as a yes. Tell me would you really object to me having Robin murdered?"

"Harry!" He took that as a yes as well, although her immediate response lacked quite the depth of shock he'd expected until she continued. "I don't want you in trouble on my account."

Harry hastened to reassure her on that point as he replied persuasively. "It would be untraceable, just an unfortunate accident in a personal eroticism session involving an orange and noose. The dangers are well documented." Adding as a semi jocular afterthought, "Damn I'd forgotten. You'd have to play the grieving widow. Well I'll just have come up with another idea."

She hadn't taken his first statement entirely seriously and from the casual tone with which he made the fruity suggestion she'd assumed that Harry was joking. Then she looked at his face. The sympathetic listener of a few moments ago was now presenting as the forbidding head of the Grid. Harry, having read her mind said, "It's alright Jane. I only kill when it's absolutely unavoidable, but he deserves some grief after the abuse he's heaped on you."

"That's a bit strong Harry."

"So how else would you describe blackmailing you into staying with him? Presenting your ideas as his; not supporting you either professionally or personally with Rebecca's illness and then cheating on you." Before she could produce some unflattering and nearly true comparisons he went on, "And Jane, you can make all the comments you wish about my behaviour when we were married but I wouldn't allow any of my female officers to stay in such a relationship if I could help it."

While Jane accepted Harry's word that he would avoid murder the expression on his face had been a salutary reminder of the difficulties his job had always presented her with. Her professional life consisted of looking into imaginary worlds peopled by poetry, governed by literary conventions and structure, to be deconstructed, debated and interpreted at leisure. His consisted of seeing the real world governed by violence and chaos, grasping at half truths and fragmentary visions of horrors. It was a world that forced him to either perform appalling deeds, or just as culpably, authorise actions that most right minded individuals would be repelled by. Actions committed to preserve the freedom of those very citizens who would condemn him outright.

That had always been her emotional stumbling block. Harry never gossiped about his working life but she'd pieced together a great deal. She'd never really been able to come to terms with the thought that those hands that would hold their children and caress her body so sensually in the night would, when he left the house, deliver death and murder. Hangman's hands covered with invisible blood. But was she any better? Revolted as Jane was by much that Harry did been forced into, she wasn't about to argue him out of tackling Robin; or doing whatever was necessary to rescue their daughter; or keep himself safe from the CIA. She was now beginning to understand a little of the internal war he must have fought with himself for years. And were the younger inhabitants of the Grid similarly conflicted? How did Erin answer when Rosie asked Mummy if she'd had a nice day at work? _'Yes darling I murdered a nasty man, now time for your bedtime story, 'The Famous Five defuse a bomb'_.

Her venture into the convoluted psychology of Spooks world was disturbed by Harry's next words. "Jane I'm sorry to ask this but ..." From his pause he was struggling, which was unusual to say the least with Harry, who was rarely short of a suitable phrase. When he continued she knew why, "No easy way to ask, but your sex life with Robin...from what you said it began to go downhill, can you tell me when?"

Jane practically screamed her indignation. "What! And you said you disliked perving!"

It wasn't a question he'd have appreciated had their roles been reversed but he needed an answer. "I'm asking because I have to. If you can pinpoint when Robin changed his, shall we say his approach to you, it is just possible that we can work out when to look from." At her uncertain face he added truthfully, " Frankly the thought of you with him makes me ill, it always did."

Jane wasn't mollified. "Well now you know how I felt about Juliet and the faceless others."

He'd left himself open to that response, although as his face didn't flicker as he added. "That's as may be. Robin's sessions with Smoochie Babe may just be the tip of a pornographic iceberg. We need a date to start searching from."

Jane thought for a moment, reliving some fairly grinding experiences, "I'd place it as shortly after the dispute about my retiring. Up to that point things had been fairly normal, a little routine maybe." Relief, combined with the wine having made her slightly drunk, she decided that if Harry wanted information, he'd get it, even if it did make him feel queasy. Mouth in action before modesty was in gear she opened her lips. "Now I think about it he began to suffer from wilt around that time, not so much an iceberg, more a semi defrosted ice pop that I definitely didn't want to suck."

Harry was wishing he could rescind his question, that vision was even worse than the one of Robin and Smoochie Babe getting it together. Ignoring the bile that rose in his throat he nodded, "So we can probably trace the start of the problems to around the time you had the run in with the Demon Headmaster."

Jane was looking extremely dubious, "It's a wide timeframe Harry. Can't we just go with recent events? I mean you have other things to worry about, such as tracing our daughter and saving your own neck. I'm not sure that my divorce comes under the heading of things MI5's assets should be used for."

Harry face quirked a little. "Catherine will get the priority I promise you, but pornography can lead to serious crime, which is part of my remit."

Jane's disbelief in this excuse was vocal. "What Robin as a porn star? You didn't see the video. It was more like a Carry On film crossed with a sexed up St Trinian's."

"You never know what's behind these things." Watching Jane smirk at his choice of phrase he briefly wondered whether he should have rationed her booze. "I doubt that you have full details of Robin's entire activities, work and social, so I need you to write down everything you know, email addresses, his employers, places."

"Harry, are you seriously telling me that you couldn't find this out anyway?"

"It'll speed up the process and I want to find out as much as possible before Robin begins to suspect what you may be up to. He's bound to try tracking you down after the events of today. He's already rung Catherine's flat and thanks to our American cousins suspects my involvement." Remembering where else Jane might reasonably have bolted to, he asked," Which reminds me, did you ring your sister as part of Catherine's timeline investigation?"

"Yes, but I told her that I'd be moving around for a few days so not to be concerned. Besides which, Robin won't be able to track me at once. He's supposed to be at a conference tomorrow – a genuine one, I checked, so he'll be tied up..." She caught Harry's eye as he tried to suppress his mirth. "I meant – oh do stop laughing – for the next four days or so."

Harry thought it unlikely that Robin would just accept Rebecca's word. He'd suspect her of lying to protect Jane. And rightly so, both sisters were fiercely protective of one another and similar in temperament, although in his opinion Rebecca, while possessed of a Jane style tongue, had skimped on the brains and charm. No sense in worrying Jane further tonight but he'd have to try to keep tabs on Robin. He worked in the same world as Jane and some mutual contact might just give him a clue as to her potential whereabouts.

Thrusting a hefty wad of writing paper and pen into her hand Harry issued his instructions. "Good, at least he's out of our hair for the immediate future. You write down what you can remember while I do the dishes."

Seeing her sit up with the intent of helping he shook his head, "No, you stay off that ankle. Nat insisted that you rest it." He stymied her forthcoming protest before it was uttered, "I presume you don't want Dimitri pushing you to tomorrow's meeting in a wheelchair."

With that he began to collect up the crockery and vanished. Immured in his kitchen, soothed by the routine of washing and drying the dishes, and no longer distracted by the need to tiptoe around Jane's sensibilities he began to seriously consider how approach Operation Robin. Harry knew where his own skills were deficient and it was already obvious that he'd need to hack into several computers and voicemails to obtain the information needed to bring Robin down. Also, he thought with a groan, he'd need to contact Graham. The girl had to be identified and the location of the assignation Graham had stumbled upon would be useful. It also wouldn't do any harm to discover more about the Wonder Head while they were searching. If he and Robin proved to be in cahoots over anything that threatened to affect Jane adversely Harry would happily extend the limits of his punitive measures. In his current mood Harry, who'd seen the effects at first hand, felt inclined to take a flame thrower to the men who had treated Jane so badly. Trained to except the worst, and rarely disappointed in his expectations, he also suspected that Robin's manoeuvrings may produce more shocks than Jane anticipated. He was torn, the worse the better as far as he was concerned, but Jane may well feel differently. At least he could ensure, that whatever the final revelations threw up, she would no longer be coping without support.

Jane, while trawling her memory, felt unexpectedly relaxed about having confided in Harry. The barrier of secrecy had now been removed and since unlike most of her acquaintance Harry was quite willing to believe the worst of Robin, she had not been forced combat the prospect of unexpressed confidante doubt. Scribbling away she wondered what exactly Harry was planning and whether she really wanted to know, as she'd said earlier in the evening ignorance was sometimes a blessing. About ten minutes later when Harry emerged from the kitchen she was sitting back with her task completed. Handing him the product of her labours she stated as evenly as possible, "I think that's everything – I've put down his usual conference venues etc, it occurred to me that he might be meeting her locally."

"Has it also occurred to you that more than one girl may be involved?"

What other potential depravities Harry was going to attribute to Robin? Within the last few minutes he'd accused him of starring in porn and being a serial shagger. Of the latter charge she supposed it took one to know one. At least he'd have to draw the line at wife swapping. The last time Jane had gone swinging had years ago, at a theme park with the children. Rather than answer his question directly she expostulated, "It might surprise you to know this Harry but I don't deal with depravity on a daily basis."'

"Not what I remember you saying when you crawled in from school on some occasions."

Looking down at the closely written pages he congratulated her. "Thanks Jane, this gives us a starting point."

Jane was onto that statement like a flash. "Who's us?"

Harry wasn't sure how she'd take the idea of her confidences being passed on, but if they were to stitch up Robin he needed expert help. "I think I'll be asking Malcolm to do some digging." Hastily, as he could see her opening her mouth to object, "Don't worry Jane, he's the soul of discretion." Keen to channel her thoughts before she could marshal any immediate protests he asked, "Tell me, do you and Robin use the same solicitor?" Her head indicated a puzzled affirmation. "Thought so. If you don't mind I think it might be wise to use a different one, I could ask mine but you may not like..."

Jane blenched, "What after our divorce!" If memory served, and she knew it did, the papers relating to Pearce v Pearce must have been stored in an asbestos lined filing cabinet. Knowing their contents how could Harry even suggest this! Was he after all exacting some form of revenge on her?

Divining the cause of her alarm, Harry tried to offer some reassurance. "That was his father, the worst Robert's had from you is the letter of complaint from when I sorted Graham out, remember when you and Rob..." Any further explanation was drowned in a banshee shriek from Jane.

"What! I asked that we sent a letter thanking you and offering to share the costs." Realisation began to dawn. "The bastard, that... that...And you thought that I'd...and still wanted to help me out..." For once she was speechless, she wasn't sure which shock was responsible for paralysing her vocal cords, the revelation of Robin's duplicity, or the realisation that while believing that she'd complained about his helping their son, topping off everything else she'd ever said, Harry had still been prepared to give her houseroom. She was inclined to change her mind about the prospect of murdering Robin.

Harry supposed he had misjudged her slightly, he really should have know that Jane would not have objected to his efforts in preventing Graham from being gifted with a criminal record, not when earlier rows had revolved around her assertion that he didn't understand his son. Harry had never agreed with that statement; he thought he understood Graham too well. Graham didn't just resemble Harry, he had also inherited several of his character traits. Harry had long since realised that without the discipline acquired via his military career he might have ended up as directionless as Graham. Perhaps he shouldn't feel too guilty though for accepting the Robin instigated letter at face value, Jane hadn't exactly helped him towards a balanced judgement, firstly by making it difficult for him to see the children and later by positively encouraging them to regard Robin as their father. Nor was it any thanks to her cooperation, lack of, that Catherine hadn't ended up dead in Iraq. The forcible rescue contrived by Tom Quinn, at a considerable risk to his own skin, had produced no thanks beyond that of several years of hostility. Easy then to misjudge her just as badly as she'd so often misjudged him. Anyway the soul baring could wait, it was late and the shock filled day had left both of them exhausted, emotionally and physically.

Suiting the words to the feeling he suggested, "We'll have the discussion about how Robin has managed to misrepresent both of us on another occasion. For now. Bed."

Attempting to rise from the depths of the sofa Jane stumbled as her ankle protested at her careless movement, sending her crashing back into the cushions. Standing up Harry reached out and taking both her hands pulled her upright. He'd rather over estimated Jane's weight as she popped up like a cork crashing into his chest. For a very brief moment Harry's arms went around her, steadying her body as he said in her ear, "Careful or we'll both end up on the floor."

"Well it wouldn't be for the first time, would it?" As she said it Jane began to wonder at the effect of the wine she'd consumed. Her slightly risqué return to the past seemed to have produced an unexpected reaction from Harry as he said gravely, "That does remind me Jane."

Harry rarely looked discomforted, but he did now as he went on, "I hope you get a good night's sleep but it is just possible that at some stage you'll get nightmares. If you have a really bad one do you want me to wake you up?"

Jane was surprised he felt the need to ask until he explained "Just think for a moment, you find me leaning over your bed in the dead of night when we're alone in the house and with my past history you could be pardoned for thinking..."

"What that you are attempting to rape me! I thought we'd already had this conversation. I'm not saying that I mightn't be alarmed when I'm half asleep, but Harry it's precisely because I do know your past history that I'd never accuse you of that." Swallowing as she thought yet again about the sides of his life that she'd always tried to ignore, "I daresay you've committed every violent crime in the statute book at some stage but not that one. Besides you've always managed to get plenty of sex without resorting to violence, as well as getting turned on from persuading not forcing." Before he could look too offended she wound up with, "And I should know, I fell for it as well."

Grateful to have received her assent, however couched, Harry gave a slightly ironical smile. "Thanks Jane, you do say the nicest things. So in a strictly platonic sense I think it's time I got you into bed." With that he proffered his arm, knowing that she still needed help to ascend the stairs.

"You're welcome kind Sir. I'd curtsey but with this ankle I'd collapse." With that she grasped his arm and they headed for the stairs and sleep.

* * *

It was around four o'clock when Jane awoke from her deep sleep. Exhaustion had meant that she'd flaked out nearly as soon as she'd hit the mattress. Unfortunately her various aches and pains had conspired to rouse her early. Resolved not toss and turn, which wasn't going to be productive of sleep and was painful with cracked ribs, she lay flat on her back considering the eventful day just past. Forty eight hours ago if anyone had told her that she and Harry would in effect be living together in the same house she'd have laughed in their face. Although she'd gradually realised, after lengthy badgering from their daughter, that Harry was not quite the monster she'd built him up into, she'd remained virtually trapped into the cycle of loathing until yesterday evening. Since then her perceptions had been whirling around in ever dizzying circles as she tried, withut conspicous success, to unravel the strange tapestry that was Harry. He'd changed from being the cardboard hate figure of twenty five years into what...she really didn't know. All she did know was that whereas yesterday her curiosity about his current lifestyle had been precisely that, it was now rapidly being displaced by a very real concern, springing from the number of occasions on which he'd seemed to dissolve into a preoccupation that owed nothing to anything or anyone she could discern in his immediate surroundings. As an ex-member of the Valium club she thought she recognised in these mental absences the possible symptoms of an evolving depression, especially when taken in conjunction with the accompanying mood swings. She'd seen him suffering from this before, of course she had, but what you bounced back from at thirty when the world still seemed to be before you was very different to your emotions in late middle age when Old Father Time, if not exactly squatting on your doorstep, was definitely waving his scythe as he hustled you down the cul de sac marked Gravesend. There again she could be wrong in her diagnosis. Depressive symptoms included recklessness, exemplified by a desire to indulge in dangerous actions. So was he depressed or merely fulfilling part of his job description? The alternative suggestion that sufferers were prone to substance abuse wasn't much help either. For as long as she'd known him Harry had consumed truly awesome volumes of alcohol. She'd sometimes wondered how he'd managed to ever graduate, let alone obtain a good degree, given that he spent most of his time at University in the bar, turning up more often than not to tutorials with his essay in one hand and a hangover cure in the other.

What then had gone so seriously wrong for him? Yet again the balance of secrecy had tipped in his favour putting her at a disadvantage. He knew most of the details relating to her situation with Robin and shortly, she had little doubt, would filling in the gaps of Robin's yet to be revealed perfidy. Whereas what did she know of his recent life: virtually nothing. She suspected an affair gone awry, but the man she'd known would have shrugged, got drunk and moved on. She'd heard several grapevine rumours about his bachelor exploits, purveyed by mutual acquaintances who'd occasionally had contact with him, and while she'd acquit him of holding the crude view that '_all cats were gray in the dark'_, he'd always had some sense of discrimination, she couldn't fail to admit that for him '_more pebbles on the_ _beach_' was reasonably apposite. Now he seemed as washed up as piece of flotsam. From where she lay she couldn't decide if the spectral woman had had the common sense to realise that getting involved with a spook was the shortcut to disaster, or alternatively, had been bonkers enough to pass up the chance of a relationship with a charming, attentive man who, not withstanding his reputation as a womaniser, was able to make any female feel special and desirable. And where was this woman lurking? Not on the Grid: Jane was sure of that. She'd wondered about the Intel Analyst who'd mysteriously transferred into Whitehall? But the Home Office was hardly the Gulag. Had she perhaps made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him? But that thought circled back to his pebbles on the beach tendency. Was Harry hankering after the unobtainable? Jane remembered the way he'd pursued herself, but she had been around in plain sight, and Harry was not a man to accept a rebuff easily. Now, in off guard moments he seemed so sad, - no not sad - inappropriate given the connotations that phrase had acquired in recent years. Tragic then –but why? She could always ask him outright, but he'd probably take refuge in the Official Secrets Act and did she really want to strip him of the defences that prevented him from breaking down? He'd said that he wanted to help her as a friend, the same applied to her. He appeared so lost in those moments of drift she really wanted to put her arms around him, hug him and tell him that everything would be okay. But she couldn't, because she was hamstrung by ignorance. Life may never be alright for him again.

So occupied had Jane been in considering the ever decreasing circles of Harry that she'd failed to register the low moaning sound that now gradually impinged on her consciousness. Her first thought was that it was wind rustling the tree branches in the back garden, but the night was still and it only took her a few seconds to realise that the noise was coming from somewhere within the house. Intruders? Not with that sound, a yelp if they hit something, a creak on the stairs, a stealthy footfall perhaps, but not this distressed weeping that spoke of torment. Then memory kicked in. Did Harry know that he still suffered from nightmares? Pulling herself upright she reached for the walking stick and swung her legs out of the bed. Wincing slightly she made her way slowly towards his bedroom, hoping desperately that she wouldn't have to wake him. Knowing that she was relying on his strength to find their daughter and disentangle her from her marriage he'd not want her to see him keening and helpless. Stupid man: stupid pride. Being Head of Section D didn't mean that he'd been stripped of all sense of feeling, like everyone else he was still composed of flesh, blood and human limitations.

Peering into the room shrouded in darkness created by heavy curtains, spook curtains designed for secrecy, she could just make out the broad outline of the bed. '_Typical Harry, large bed – was_ _he really its only occupant these days?'_ Subduing her thoughts she looked again, he was definitely stirring unrestfully, although not flailing around as he had done in the past. In the aftermath of Bill's death she'd received more than one bruise from a sleep slung arm. A contrite Harry had suggested that he transferred himself into the spare room, an option that she had steadfastly refused on the basis that she'd taken him for better or worse, little knowing then how much of the worst was in store. In the present day she paused in the doorway for several seconds. She hated seeing him so vulnerable, but after all his help and practical sympathy over the past few hours she was simply didn't feel it was right to leave him alone, haunted by horrors that he could suppress by day, but not by night.

Hesitant as she was a further moan and toss made her creep towards the bed, noting, to her relief that he wasn't lying in the dead centre but fortuitously had moved towards the side she was approaching. A further simple problem now presented itself. What was he wearing? In the olden days he'd often slept naked, justified by the excuse that he had to get dressed quickly when hauled out of bed by an emergency. Knowing him intimately Jane had pretended to believe this, well aware of the type of action he really wanted to be stripped for. Not that she'd ever complained about that, but if he'd retained his old habits this could be a little embarrassing. Ignoring her feelings of discomfort she moved nearer, finally noticing that while he'd thrown off the duvet cover at least his nether regions were still concealed by a sheet. Just as she reached the edge of the mattress another sudden heave meant that his back was turned towards her. Good. Trying and failing to avert her gaze she thankfully saw, now that her eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, that he was wearing something with a waistband. Moving her position she stretched out her hand and placed it gently on his back, no alarmed reaction resulted as she began to rub in soothing circles, a practice she remembered of old. Gradually extending her range from shoulder blades to lower back he slowly seemed to settle. Immediate crisis over she began to realise that the disconnected vague sounds Harry was muttering were occasionally interspersed with the odd word. Guilty as she felt at trespassing into his very private territory Jane made no effort to avoid deciphering his mumurings, in fact her ears were positively straining as she continued to lightly massage his back. What she could make out had no discernible meaning, a few odd sounds jumbled and indistinct, seemingly unrelated and those she could interpret made no sense...

"Berlin...bate no Lucas... ru... ena...slasher...cove...rush...Alban...bloo"

Before she could try to work out the meaning of these disconnected syllables she was nearly knocked off her feet with shock when he suddenly turned and screamed ..."God no go...just go...no, no." The last at an alarmed pitch she'd never previously heard from him. For a moment she thought he'd woken up, but as he writhed once more, she realised that he was still asleep. To her relief it seemed that he'd finally finished reliving whatever was torturing him. Leaving him prone and unmoving she quietly limped her way back towards the door. She was about to pass through it when she heard a final coherent, agonised sentence, "Ilya we have no choice." Looking back she saw no further movement as the sound of gentle snores reached her ears. Whatever was disturbing his sleep had apparently ended for the night.

Silently closing the door behind her she knew that she would never mention this incident to Harry or anyone. As she clambered back into her bed while she knew she was no closer to solving the mystery that haunted him one matter was now crystal clear. Whatever was ailing Harry was an event on a par with the disaster of Bill's death. She'd accused him of possessing a guilt complex. For the first time ever it occurred to her that it was probably that experience that had triggered it. That grim memory of his perceived failure to save his friend setting his feet upon the path of self blame for everything that went wrong in the lives of those he felt responsible for. Whatever had now occurred some thirty five years later to affect him so badly was more than just a love affair gone wrong, it was something that had shaken him to the depths of his soul. During the day he could indulge in denial and ignore his grief, but at night the unexorcised demons enjoyed free play across his unconscious mind.

Was there any way in which she could help the man he now was escape from the unexplained nightmare he was living with? She was still pondering this conundrum as she drifted into sleep.

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_**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment. I now know what Harry is going to do about Robin and as you may have guessed Malcolm returns in my next. **_


	24. Chapter 24

_**Thanks to all those who read and those who reviewed. Much appreciated.**_

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The Grid. _9.30 am approx_

Meetings in the Briefing Room were rarely a source of comfort and joy to the participants. The happiest part of proceedings tended to be Harry's announcement that they could all stand down, once the paperwork had been completed. Today the usual gamut of gloomy emotions was heightened by the rays of fury emanating from Erin. Observing the Section Chief's blazing eyes and rigid jawline Jane was tempted to suggest to her that she stopped behaving like a stroppy teenager suddenly been banjaxed by the discovery that the world did not revolve around her own wonderful personality. A moment's reflection informed Jane that as she was only present by the grace of God and Harry, the two being virtually interchangeable on the Grid, it would be wise not to assume an authority that was rightfully his.

Harry, whose face was beginning to flush with a colour prejudicial to his blood pressure was, for now, ignoring the thunderous atmosphere. If Erin's behaviour bade to interfere with operational efficiency he wouldn't hesitate to take punitive action, but at present he had a more important priority. Catherine had now been missing for nearly forty eight hours and unless Calum had produced a miracle in the night they were no wiser as to her whereabouts. Deliberately avoiding Erin's eye he turned his attention towards Malcolm and the sleep deprived Calum, only to be anticipated by Erin who, while very pointedly not acknowledging Malcolm's presence, asked sharply,

"Calum, any updated Intel."

Sitting beside his yawning colleague Malcolm, normally the mildest of men, felt a twinge of irritation at the dark haired perfume model sitting opposite. That this sentiment was being reflected back in triple strength was obvious to everyone around the table. Erin was unashamedly radiating a negativity targeted upon the hapless Malcolm, whose sole crime appeared to be the mere fact of his existence.

Faced with such obvious hostility Malcolm was internally debating the possibility of retreating back into retirement less than four hours after being disgorged from the pods into an environment at once both familiar and strange. Feeling the need to acclimatise himself into the calm and peaceful world of Section D he'd returned to the Grid at an hour in which the proverbial early bird would have still been cosily tucked up with head under wing. As with many a planned operation the scheme to familiarise himself with the subtly altered regime had been aborted within minutes of his being greeted by a shattered Calum. Introductions over, "_Mr Wynn Jones I presume,' 'I prefer colleagues to call me Malcolm', _it had only taken a few swapped comments and sentences for the pair to have laid down the groundwork of a mutual respect. Despite the seeming frivolity of Calum's speech patterns Malcolm had been impressed by the thoroughness of his work, Calum, in his turn, had discovered that the returning genius was remarkably up to speed for one who'd been retired for two years plus. He'd gratefully endorsed Malcolm's suggestions as to how they proceeded in the key operation, tersely outlined by Calum as, "_The Pearce family saga featuring the missing daughter, the bolshie son, the spiky ex and the human volcano_." Handover concluded Calum had then disappeared to the Rest rooms to grab a few hours sleep, confident that the quiet newcomer would continue the good work. Professional trust having been established Malcolm wasn't precisely sure as to why Calum was now snoozing beside him in the Briefing Room but suspected that Erin was responsible. In this assumption he was quite correct. Calum's all too brief slumber had been disturbed by a demanding Erin marching into the room he'd commandeered and peremptorily insisting on his presence at the meeting with the comment, "_You don't want to find yourself superseded by Malcolm._" In his exhausted state Calum would happily have been superseded by Scooby Doo and had said so. Erin's response had been to pull rank, leaving him with no alternative to other than to pull on his trousers and obey Madame Fuhrer, or should that have been Madam Furious. Already annoyed with Erin he certainly wasn't prepared to ally himself with an obvious discourtesy that Malcolm had done nothing to deserve. Before any of the others could intervene Calum revived sufficiently to snap back,

"You'd do better to ask someone who can stay awake. Malcolm the floor is yours."

Harry, keen to be updated on developments, indicated his assent to Calum's proposition. Erin, her objections thus blocked slumped back in her chair with a disgusted mutter. Clearing his throat Malcolm commenced the difficult task of trying sound positive about mainly negative news. In this he was somewhat hampered by being a technical officer. A spin doctor would have created a far more effective initial presentation, although whether any member of that gentry could have survived the subsequent dissection by a severely worried Harry was more doubtful. Malcolm recognised the symptoms in the furrowed brow and the determinedly professional expression. What surprised him rather more were the concerned surreptitious glances being cast Harrywards by the woman he'd easily identified as the 'spiky ex'.

"Very well. Calum has run various checks on those who'd had access to the pattern of the CCTV switch off and narrowed down the possible informers to three likely suspects, all of whom are employed in the traffic and highways section. Crucially they all have financial difficulties with inexplicable payments into their bank accounts. We've tasked a junior officer with tracing the source of the money."The acknowledgement that these discoveries had come from Calum along with the judicious use of the word 'we' seemed to satisfy Erin. Before she could attempt to dominate proceedings once more Malcolm pressed a key on his laptop, making them all blink as the screen at the end of the Briefing Room was suddenly illuminated with a montage of grainy CCTV pictures. "Using the information put together by Jane the CCTV footage was examined at the locations mentioned. Over the past fortnight Catherine seems to have met the man, whose car she was seen entering, at this cafe on several separate occasions."

"And how exactly does this help?" It was Erin of course. Normally she was able to charm her way around the two younger officers. Today, shocked by her rudeness, they simultaneously ganged up to defend Malcolm. The slightly more alert Dimitri was the quickest of the pair to slap Erin down comprehensively, although carefully avoiding her eye in the process of doing so. "It tells us that Catherine must have been having regular contact with that man for a few days at least. By implication she was being cautious at first but must eventually have trusted him enough to invite him into her flat."

Erin looked utterly stunned**. **It was as if the doormat had decided to stand up, shake itself dust free and walk away. After all their flirting and... well, their occasionally more intimate relations Dimitri was the last person she'd have expected to turn on her. Jane, registering this, wanted to offer Dimitri her congratulations. Not many men would have resisted the temptation of the little finger when being twisted by a woman as attractive as Erin; it suggested character. If Erin had any sense she'd snatch him up while he was available. But then what did she know? Thinking back to the previous evening's confessional and the admittance of her own crashing misjudgements Jane decided she'd be well advised to eschew match making as a complementary career. While she was musing Harry had been contemplating the CCTV images. Catherine with a man who later visited her flat! Was the reason as obvious as Dimitri had tactfully implied? Jane's absorption in the personal dynamics of the Grid was abruptly interrupted by a harsh question.

"Jane what is the situation with Catherine and Fabien? It's as if he's suddenly dropped off the radar. First he was around; then she was moving into her flat and staying put in London. I've not liked to pry."

"No great secret Harry. Fabien was posted to a predominately Muslim country about nine months ago. Obviously in view of her documentary Catherine couldn't accompany him so they decided on a trial time apart. I'm surprised you didn't ask her yourself."

About nine months ago, the start of the events around Albany and its disastrous aftermath kickstarted by the arrival of the Gavriks, followed by the spectacular misjudgements that lead to the heart wrenching death of his old friend Jim Coaver, and hard on that, the tragedy by the estuary culminating in that final, devastating, loss of Ruth. Now he learnt that while he'd been immersing himself in his secret world of morose moods and personal misery his daughter had needed him. Self absorbed and selfish he'd been completely indifferent to the difficulties of those who might have wanted his support. Jane had accused him last night of possessing a guilt complex. Maybe she was right, but if she was, it had been justly earned.

Jane was continuing to speak. "I suppose this could be a new boyfriend but just as equally he could be a work contact. She rarely gives out her home address but if she needs a confidential venue for recording she does sometimes use her flat." Harry's lips moved in a silent phrase that seemed to resemble '_Silly girl'_. Before Jane could take him to task the entire company was recalled to the more immediate topic via a discreet cough from Malcolm, a precursor to revealing the fruit of his later labours.

"What you've just seen was discovered by Calum. Having worked out Catherine's usual haunts I rechecked the CCTV for other sightings and found this from four days ago."

A further click brought up a fresh CCTV tape featuring a small cafe with outdoor tables. How Malcolm had managed to distinguish Catherine and her companion from the woolly wrapped passersby was in itself a technical miracle**. **If Catherine had been seeking obscurity by meeting in a public place she'd been defeated by the weather. The pair had achieved prominence by virtue of being the only persons prepared to sit and savour their drinks in what appeared to be a stiff wintry breeze. They seemed to be talking and, as Malcolm slowed down the motion, their recorded gesticulations hinted that while not exactly quarrelling they were involved in some form of dispute. Finally the man stood up and walked angrily away, face towards the camera. After giving everyone a few seconds to digest the dumping of yet another individual into existing stew pot of confusion Malcolm added, "I'm running him through facial recognition and I've contacted a lip reader. I'm hoping that she'll be able to pick out something from the CCTV clips we've obtained. I'll also check the CCTV from neighbouring locations for this man. We might just get a lead."

Harry was looking thoughtful as he suggested, "I'd guess from the way he walked that he'd been involved with the military in some capacity. You can't mistake that way of moving." Watching Malcolm scribble a note he ventured his burning question, "What about the memory stick?" Calum, realising that Malcolm was occupied, answered on his behalf. "Nothing yet. The decoding software is a woman, resists blandishments for ages but finally opens up to charm."

From Dimitri's corner came the rejoinder, "And how would you know?"

Harry with an eye to Jane and Erin, whose suddenly rigid postures were forming a briefly reunited feminist front, uttered a warning, "Calum, Dimitri."

Calum alone proffered an excuse, "Sorry Harry. Sleep deprivation. Malcolm has everything well in hand, so any chance I could swap the Land of Mystery for the Land of Nod?"

"Yes unless, anything further Malcolm?"

"Three updates. The police rang at around eight to tell us that the car staking out Catherine's flat has been found torched on waste ground. The various DNA and facial recognition checks on the man we know collected Catherine have thrown nothing up, but assuming Graham was correct about his nationality I've retrieved some DNA records from the CIA cloud storage." There was a gratifying thump of chins on the table before Calum whistled, "Bloody Hell how did you do that? And can they trace it back to us?"

"Just before I retired the CIA experienced a major server failure. I took advantage and set up a backdoor coding to get some information I needed by establishing a false identity. I'd assumed that by now they'd have done a sweep and deleted me. I thought it was worth checking. It's unlikely but even if they trace it to us are they going to admit to it when they are involved in a deniable operation?"

Harry's vindication at having persuaded Malcolm to return was instantly spoilt by Erin, "And you didn't think to pass this on to someone when you left? So much for working together."

This time she had seriously overstepped the mark. Over the hubbub, in which both Calum and Dimitri could be heard protesting, Harry's stentorian tones dominated.

"That is quite enough Erin. I deal with the Senior team disciplinaries, as you will very soon find out if you continue to take this tone."

Leaving Erin to digest the rebuke he added, "The third point Malcolm."

If ever there was an ill timed suggestion given the circumstances this was going to be it, "I understand that Erin has inherited Ros Meyers old CIA asset. The one Ros pumped sparingly for minor gossip. She's still assigned to the London desk."

"Why not hack the database for whatever you want me to ask?" A sulking Erin was still on the attack. Harry was spared answering by Dimitri, "Since when did black ops make their way onto databases?" Seeking some degree of conciliation, "It's worth a try Erin."

Not being a member of the Grid proper Jane, through observing this whole exchange, had now concluded that transparency in the Security Services was not a desirable option. Few members of the public would thrill to the knowledge that in the event of a terror attack their safety lay in the hands of a wisecracker, a returning retiree, and a pair of love birds involved in an ongoing tiff, all of whom were based within a department headed by a depressed border line alcoholic. Your life in their hands. Now that was a terrifying thought.

Meanwhile the depressive alcoholic was summing up. "Immediate jobs, Erin contact that asset using a legend, if you do arrange a meeting get Robin to observe at a distance." He saw the quick shudder the name sent down Jane's spine and cursed the fact that he'd had to utter it, albeit in a different context. "l'll interview Garside, so Erin can you tell Batman to join me in the interrogation rooms in twenty minutes? Calum sleep. Dimitri you and Jane need to set off for your meeting."

While Erin flounced out in something dangerously akin to a tantrum, probably further incensed by the mass resignation of her fan club, Harry noticed Jane shake her head at Dimitri as the pair remained seated. Surprised that she was encouraging an officer to undermine him by disobeying a direct order he stared, daring her to explain.

"Sorry but I wanted to ask. Harry does your remit for the Reception cover your approval of the material used or does it just relate to the security concerns?"

Harry's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, "I understood it was just Shakespeare so surely the content is straightforward."

"To be exact Harry the content consists of extracts from certain modern interpretations of the plays to be presented within a unifying theme"

"Which is?"

"An attempt to shake up preconceived middleclass prejudices. Apparently to be achieved by offending as many spectators as possible. For example he wants to feature an extract from a controversial production of Macbeth with male witches."

"How is that controversial?"

"They are depicted as representing a Bishop, an Imam and a Rabbi." Then followed the killer sentence. "Wearing only headgear and devil face masks."

Harry swung a thunderstruck glare onto Dimitri. "Why didn't you warn me about this?"

"Have a heart Harry. Whenever I asked a question I got gobbledegook." Searching his memory he protested "How would you translate the statement that he wants' _to underpin the ongoing sublimated themes of Shakespeare's hidden feminist subtext_'"

Jane nearly laughed out loud at Harry's appalled face as she interpreted, "Mainly that the speaker is a verbose prat with an eye on an Arts Grant."

Dimitri responded with a further query, "How about he, _'wants to explore the underlying sexuality implicit in all aspects of the text?_'"

"He's not getting enough at home and I draw the line at talking to his partner assuming he or she exists."

Harry, well aware of Malcolm's diffident presence, drew his own line with, "And how about instead of using up your brain cells with twaddle the pair of you tackle this individual who's responsible for putting the fart in arty farty?"

As they moved towards the door Harry called Jane back, she looked slightly alarmed at his summons as she instructed Dimitri, "Collect Laura and can you unearth a clipboard apiece for us?" At Dimitri's puzzled stance she explained, "It gives us something to do with our hands, looks official, and if I do end up assaulting that pretentious twat a clip board is cheaper to replace than your Ipad." Dimtiri departed chortling to himself, he thought he might just enjoy this meeting; it could only be an improvement on the one he'd just sat through. Taking the risk that Harry would occupy Jane for a few minutes longer he diverted in search of Erin. She hadn't done herself any favours in the Briefing Room and he had an unpleasant suspicion that last night's telephone argument might have been responsible for her unusually aggressive behaviour.

Leaning forward in his seat Harry hoped his nerves were well hidden as he apologised to Malcolm. "I'm sorry about that Malcolm. I really don't know what's got into Erin. I'll talk to her later. In the meantime can I introduce you to Jane properly?" Turning to Jane he informed her, "Malcolm is my oldest friend so be gentle with him, or he'll be heading back to his books and retirement."

Holding out her hand, taken with an unexpectedly firm grip for one who looked so colourless, Jane opted for frankness, "And after that reception who could blame you. I would say I've heard a lot about you but with Harry's code of secrecy you wouldn't believe me. Given my history with Harry I hope to God you've not heard much about me."

Had she but known it while Harry had rarely mentioned their marriage, its death rites having taken place three years before Malcolm joined Section D, Harry's very silence had on the subject had in itself spoken volumes. Malcolm had not forgotten the sheer agony Harry had experienced when Catherine had become entangled in an operation several years ago. Harry's guard had crumbled in an instant, his relief at finally being able to talk to his estranged daughter expressed, according to Adam Carter, in tears. Watching the strong man of the Grid reduced to a near blubbering wreck had been a salutary and alarming experience for one and all. That Jane had rewarded Harry's various efforts to secure their daughter's safety over the years with just one measly smile, produced when Harry recovered Catherine from the Lebanon, had given Malcolm**, **one of the least censorious of men, no good opinion of the woman who had made such difficulties for his friend**.** Now finally meeting Jane his original impressions were undergoing a minor revision, at least her contributions had been helpful, in startling contrast to attitude of Erin who'd just performed a feat he'd have hitherto thought impossible, that of making the late Ros Meyers seem positively amiable.

He wondered if Jane had read his mind as she remarked to Harry. "I think something is worrying Erin. Yesterday just before you returned with Mr Snuggles she seemed concerned about Rosie. I'm guessing, but I think Catherine being missing might have struck a chord."

Harry wasn't convinced. "So why take it out on Malcolm?"

"Because when you can't admit why you're really worried you pick the soft target – sorry Malcolm I didn't mean..." Malcolm gave her an understanding nod. Harry was still sceptical. "Come on Harry - remember how horrible I was to you at Luke's funeral and why." With that embarrassing admission she made for the door turning around to say, "And I think something went wrong last night between her and Dimitri. I noticed they arrived separately this morning."

"As you would if you were trying to hide from gossip."

"Well you should know all about that Harry."

With that matter of fact utterance she vanished. Malcolm was about to speak but then noticed that far from being affronted Harry was following Jane's limping progressing across the Grid, his eyes alight with a flicker of affection that might have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn't know him as well as Malcolm, It was only after she'd exited with Dimitri and Laura that Harry turned back to face him. After repeating his apology and promise to squash Erin he moved to the main reason for discussion.

"I need to talk to you about Jane." God, this was more difficult than he'd anticipated, even if Malcolm had heard worse. "Her marriage has broken down and she's being blackmailed into staying with her husband." Malcolm, while willing to act as confidante over Harry's problems with Ruth, was less sure that he wanted to be privy to Jane's self inflicted difficulties. He was however increasingly curious about the unanticipated rapport he sensed between the pair. Having perfected the art of silence years ago he sat back and listened as Harry's explanation unfolded. Harry omitted only the details of Jane's intimate activities with Robin, concluding with, "...so I think the first stage is to get as much information as we can. I'd really appreciate your help." Malcolm, although still far from impressed by Jane, was postively revolted by the events Harry had related. Thinking aloud he said.

"I'd like to take a look at the hard disk on the computer. Is there any way we could obtain it?"

"Not without breaking in, and then Robin Tindall would definitely know it was us."

Applying a mild degree of lateral thinking Malcolm suggested, "We could copy and then replace it. Calum or I could do it in a trice. "

"I can't really spare either of you. " There was pause while Harry pursed his lips in thought, prior to asking, "Is it a difficult job?"

"Not especially. We could show someone with a reasonable knowledge of computers what to do."

Remembering the young officer who'd so impressed him previous evening Harry made a decision. "I think I have just the man." Standing up he continued, "I'll deal with it later. I've left that piece of scrag end by the name of Garside stewing for long enough." Malcolm's doubts about the wisdom of Harry's venture to placate the undeserving ex were imprinted across his features, making Harry add apologetically, "Thanks Malcolm, I suspect you think I'm a fool, but I didn't treat Jane very well when we were married and she certainly deserves better than that shit."

Malcolm thought the answers to that sentence were '_yes, I don't know, and probably_.' All he actually said was 'I'd better get back to my computers."

Harry, having left the Briefing Room, returned to his office to discover Erin standing outside. Her whole hangdog stance reminiscent of a naughty schoolgirl caught out in an act of defiance. Harry glared at her, he was not in a forgiving mood, she had damn near driven Malcolm off the Grid and tried to prevent Laura obtaining permanent post. If her temporary residency in his office post Albany had given her the impression that she was 'Queen of Grid' it was high time she was disabused of that notion. The only woman deserving of the title was dead, killed by his unforgiveable stupidity and no one else would ever deserve that crown. The most Erin could stake a claim to was Crown Princess, and after today's exhibition even that was questionable. His brusque, "Well," made Erin shiver. Normally she didn't do humble but managed it in an effort to avoid antagonising Harry any further.

"Can I have a word?"

Following him into the office, whose walls once again echoed the shade gradually suffusing Harry's face, she was forced to remain standing. Harry had dispensed with his usual courtesy of waving her to a seat, a further indication of his displeasure, privately referred to on the Grid as _'Harry going all military.' _This impression was reinforced as he barked,"Well what's the word?"

Staring down at her toes of the stiletto heeled boots so decried by Jane as if searching for an answer written thereon she muttered a quiet, "Sorry."

The only response was curt, "I didn't quite catch that Ms Watts."

Hell, she really was in his bad books and they all knew what that meant, the most boring routine tasks going, plus training the less capable rookie officers. Accepting that she was going to have to grovel she repeated a little more loudly, "Sorry."

Harry was reminded of Catherine when she about five and thought that word solved everything. If only: it was a shame it didn't, although if it did he'd have spent a lifetime repeating it ad infinitum. Harshly he addressed her. "It's Malcolm who's owed the apology not me. Talented as you are Erin the decision on who to employ in this section rests with me. All you have achieved today is to upset the team, show yourself up, and potentially destroy the smooth running of the operation. If you intend to continue on this route I will be forced to stand you down."

Erin gulped, Harry never made idle threats. She tried again, "I'm sorry Harry. It's just...when I got home last night Rosie was crying because she'd had a bad day as school, some bullying that the teacher didn't take seriously and I'd not been there for her. And then Dimitri wanted to come round and I said no. We argued over the phone which Rosie overheard and that upset her again because she likes Dimitri. I wasn't happy about Malcolm joining us because Calum worked so hard to get his promotion and then he wasn't invited into the meeting. I didn't know he'd been on the Grid all night until Dimitri told me. Everything just boiled over. I know it's not an acceptable excuse but..."

Harry mentally paid tribute to Jane's astuteness, which was why, recalling her theory with regard to the decommissioning of Beth Bailey, he suspected that Erin had omitted the jealousy factor from her apology. Jane's arrival on the Grid this morning sporting discreet makeup, freshly blow dried hair and a severely tailored outfit that miraculously emphasised her femininity had garnered her effusive compliments from Calum and Dimitri. He couldn't blame them. Having rapidly accustomed himself to her appearance in the makeshift clothes of yesterday he'd forgotten just how attractive Jane could be. In consequence of which when she'd joined him for breakfast he hadn't been able to avoid doing a double take. Erin wasn't used to this type of competition on the Grid. Ruth in his eyes may have been beautiful, with her own distinctive Ruth style of dressing which he would never, ever have wanted her to alter but, little as it had mattered to him, no one could truthfully have described her as glamorous or impeccably groomed. Pondering his answer to Erin he thought how Jane would laugh at the absurdity of a woman who was twenty five years younger than herself regarding her as a rival.

"Firstly I suggest you apologise to Malcolm. Fortunately he is not a man who bears grudges. In your place I'd ask him for some help, make it clear that this was a one off and you accept him." That was the easy bit over. Now he was venturing into the territory that made the bravest of men quail: the unfathomable workings of the female mind. Give him a terrorist any day of the week. "Secondly you should discuss properly with Dimitri whatever problems you are experiencing, '_don't do as I didn't, do as I say._' You also need to talk to your daughter's school. If you don't want to karate chop the teacher yourself it might be worth asking Jane's advice on the line to take." Noting that Erin was now looking a tad more cheerful he dismissed her with, "When Jason Richards comes on duty I need to see him."

A few minutes later having vacated his office after a quick glance at his ever increasing in tray, - he would swear that the manila files were breeding overnight - Harry was entering the pods with the distinct intention of ensuring that Garside disgorged his secrets. Glancing back across the Grid he noticed that Erin was at least talking to Malcolm. Good, with any luck that was one problem resolved.

Erin had approached Malcolm apprehensively**.** She hoped Harry was correct in the assertion that Malcolm didn't bear grudges, but knew it would serve her right if he did. At first she thought he was deliberately ignoring her, until she realised he was focusing his attention on his computer screen. This she was used to with Calum. Moving so he could notice her she was at least relieved when he paused whatever he was doing to met her eyes with a steady studiously neutral gaze. Erin couldn't read what was passing though his mind but taking the initiative she stated.

"Can I say sorry? It's no excuse but I brought my domestic anxieties into work today."

Malcolm paused for a moment as he said gravely, "Accepted." Seeing she wasn't moving off he met her half way, "Can I do anything for you?"

Nervously Erin made her request, "The legend I'm using to meet this asset. The paperwork needs checking. Could you..."

"Of course. Have you got your legend box?" Scanning the contents of the sturdy box, labelled Emily Winters, he nodded. "Quite right, the credit card is out of date. Can you give me about ten minutes?"

Erin smiled, "I'll try to make contact while you're busy. Er...do you happen to know the tack Ros Meyers used?"

Malcolm wasn't quite sure how to answer. "Her methods wouldn't work for everyone, as far as I know they were a combination of charm and intimidation. Whatever she thought was needed."

"Sounds a bit like Harry."

"Indeed." Her throw away comment suddenly reminded Malcolm that he'd failed to ask Harry a key question. He didn't like gossiping but... "Erin, does Jane know anything about Ruth and...?"

"No." Feeling obliged to continue she added, "None of us can fathom Harry and Jane's relationship. It seems complicated."

Malcolm reflected that with Harry it usually was. From his brief observations of the last hour he was with the team on this one, although he wasn't about to share that with Erin. Watching Malcolm calling up her legend on his computer Erin moved towards her own desk, feeling grateful that she'd apparently been forgiven.

* * *

Due to the delay occasioned by Erin the sole piece of breathing human evidence obtained to date had been seated in the interrogation room for fifteen minutes. The spartan surroundings of depressing institutional grey and pungent smell of double disinfectant had been known to strike terror into the most confident of souls, not a category that included Garside. His overnight sojourn in the basement cells with the echoing noise of guards' footsteps and occasional clink of keys as they opened and closed access doors had drained away whatever bravado he'd possessed on arrival. Seated opposite him, while they waited for Harry, was a silent guard with a grim expression plus Batman, the latter punching his knuckles into his own palm with the monotony of metronome. In certain quarters Batman's tattoos were much admired, but while they were undoubtedly the most decorative feature in the room Garside would have preferred them to be static, at present they were rippling artistically with each rhythmic smack. Garside couldn't avoid imagining what those strong fingers and muscles could do to his head, and then wished he hadn't. As the door opened to reveal a new arrival he thought he'd met his saviour, until the man whose impeccably cut suit and smartly knotted tie was revealed as Sir Harry Pearce, the man whose reputation in the spying world made Vlad the Impaler look like a purveyor of toothpicks.

The greeting seemed pleasant, "I do hope that you had a comfortable night. My apologies for keeping you waiting."

Not detecting the underlying sarcasm Garside aired his grumbles. "The mattress was hard and me tea was cold."

It was an ill advised complaint, within a second the falsely courteous gentleman dissolved into a snarling spook, one whose facial expression was all the more scary for being at such variance with his clothing.

"This is not the Ritz you piece of scum. Now unless you want to thrown out of here and left to the mercies of whichever set of bastards hired you I'd advise you to sing so sweetly you'll make a canary sound like a toad."

Sitting back to admire his handiwork Harry continued to stare furiously. Garside thought for a moment before whining, "And if I do talk, they'll kill me."

"Quite possibly, but if you don't and the woman whose home you were watching dies as a result of your silence I'll be supervising your demise personally."

Put that way Garside gave in, "I was told to watch the bint's flat. See who went in and out. When it looked as if no-one was there I was to call a number. Can't remember it now."

"Not good enough. Who hired you?"

"I swear to God I don't know. The bloke that contacted me said that someone had given him me name. I just watched and then left when another man came."

Harry considered for a moment. It was thin but possibly true. Calum had suggested that a gang for hire was acting as middle man, and it would explain why such inefficient individuals were being employed.

"Very well, back to the cells with you."

"You can't do that. I have me rights." Batman waited expectantly, as a red rag was to a bull so was that phrase to Sir Harry. The anticipated roar was not long delayed. With a surprisingly speedy movement Harry grasped Garside warmly by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The sudden pallor in the face of the gasping Garside, whose mouth movements a goldfish might have envied, giving an interesting tonal contrast with the grey paint.

"Any more words about your rights and you'll find out exactly what I can and can't do. I don't advise you to try." Throwing Garside to the floor Harry departed ordering, "Put this piece of rubbish back in his cell and remember he prefers his tea cold."

By the time Harry arrived back on the Grid his own breathing had returned to normal, although by way of compensation his anxiety levels were rising. Reporting his findings, such as they were, to Malcolm he suddenly noticed an alert expression on the latter's face. Before he could ask Malcolm stretched over to Calum's desk and pulled a small leather coloured rectangle from among the debris. Flicking the cover over, he stared at the small screen before pushing a switch at its base. From his angle Harry was unable to identify the hardware Malcolm was clutching.

"What is that?"

Malcolm was glaring at the item with an expression that suggested he'd prefer to be handling it with a pair of long tongs.

"This Harry is a Kindle, the popular substitute for a properly printed book." Having made plain his contempt for this particular manifestation of the digital world he explained, "I'm checking to see if any documents have been downloaded onto it. Garside must have had it for some reason. I doubt that he's a lover of the classics displayed here, I'd have thought the Simpsons was his intellectual high water mark. Ah..." Turning the reader around so that Harry could see a one page pdf document exhibiting a single phone number. Malcolm seized a mobile resting on his desk and dialled while Harry hoped. Alas it only seemed to connect to a voicemail. Malcolm didn't seem especially upset by this setback as he proceeded to interrogate his computer. Aware that Harry was still with him he called over his shoulder. "If we're lucky I may be able to trace the location from the voicemail. Give me a few minutes and then I'll redial." Watching Malcolm's fingers fly over the screen as he typed in endless obscure codes and crashed through firewalls Harry gave up trying to work out what he was doing. Harry had never understood much beyond basic technology so how Malcolm could extrapolate so much from one telephone number defeated him.

After a nerve wracking wait of about five minutes Malcolm, whose face displayed a mixture of thrill at success and apprehension at his discovery, was displaying a computer screen glowing with an image that was all too familiar to Harry.

The American Embassy.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading and if you have a couple of minutes please review.**_


	25. Chapter 25

**Thanks to those who read and those who reviewed**.

* * *

_The Grid. 11.00 approx_

Harry was instantly aware of Malcolm's worried eyes flying from the computer screen to survey his face. Hoping that Malcolm hadn't noticed that he'd been temporarily paralysed with shock he recovered quickly, managing to adopt an even, almost casual tone that he trusted would conceal the sudden plummeting of his stomach.

"We already knew the CIA was involved. This merely confirms it."

It was lie, he knew it and so did Malcolm. If that phone was held by someone in the embassy it indicated a black operation authorised at the highest level of diplomatic denial. Neither man would admit to this verbally, a truth not spoken could be denied, pushed away, left in limbo, unacknowledged, placed just about anywhere other than dragged into the relentless light of day. Except of course, even unspoken, unadmitted, that truth existed. Harry began to wonder anew what the hell his daughter had got herself involved with. Special relationship with the Cousins! Harry's foot, leg and arm. While the political classes persisted in regarding themselves as junior partners in a Transatlantic bromance Harry was more often reminded of an occasion years ago when he'd accompanied Jane to a performance of _'A Midsummer Night's Dream_.' He had distinct memories of one of the female characters, recalled because of her striking resemblance to Jane, begging an uncaring male '_to use me as your spaniel_'. That, he'd long since believed, was the key to the so called special relationship, the psyche of the historic slave owning South translated into the modern day CIA taking the British security services for walkies. Well Harry was neither spaniel nor poodle. As an unashamedly British bulldog over the years he'd taken an inordinate delight in peeing copiously up Uncle Sam's leg.

It was Malcolm who broke the thickening silence, "We'll see what Erin returns with."

Grateful for the minor distraction and aware of Erin's earlier attempt to bridge build Harry felt obliged to comment , "I'm not excusing her but..."

Malcolm dismissed Harry's words with a slight wave of his hand. "Harry, I've endured worse in the past. And it's Calum I have to work with most of the time." He didn't elaborate further, from which Harry divined that as long as Erin didn't repeat her behaviour all, if not forgotten, might be forgiven. Relieved that the two techies at least seemed to have found a rapport, and recognising that he could little more at this juncture, after casting one more apprehensive glance at the computer he retired to the sanctuary of his own office.

Harry was not fundamentally a patient man, he'd acquired the patina of that so called virtue over the years but in times of crisis he found it difficult to maintain. Being out, running about, stalking suspects and wheeling dealing to defeat the enemies of the state was his impetus, and he frequently found it impossible to believe that he could do that just as effectively from a desk. Today, for example, he was possessed of an intense urge to seize a pump action gun and descend upon the embassy spraying bullets in an unsubtle attempt to make its inhabitants disgorge their secrets. Instead, frustratingly, he was seated in his office chair looking balefully at the pyramid of papers and folders that constituted his in tray. With sigh he pulled the top set of files toward himself. His world was falling around his ears but the ever present paperwork still remained, staring reproachfully at him, as if his signature made any real difference save that of a parasitic endorsement of the officers who'd done the real work, the field work, the ones who died and were subsequently enshrined in their own special filing cabinet. He'd spent years in the field despising the bureaucrats and their dictates, now he'd descended to the level of becoming one of them**. **Harry's statement at his post Albany tribunal that he served his country in any way he was asked had not been a lie. If he was called upon to wield the pen rather than the gun, then wield the pen he would. That did not, however, prevent him from repeatedly cursing the circumstances that had so damaged his knee that he'd become a liability in the field. With a stoicism borne of experience he opened the first file and began read.

The next couple of hours passed gainfully, if not pleasantly, as he ploughed though the various reports and documents. As he scrawled his name on each individual paper he was becoming increasingly irate; statements from officers, no problem; Intel assessments on which actions had been based, necessary; record of official debriefs, yes; recommendations for improvements in the future, that could save lives. Never again did he want to sign the order to request that yet another name be engraved upon the weeping wall. These requirements he could cope with. It was the health and safety assessments that pushed the iron into his soul while simultaneously launching his blood pressure into the stratosphere. Was he really supposed to instruct Erin, _'Before you enter a building occupied by a mad terrorist bent on sending us to Armageddon can you just check everyone has access to clearly indicated exits and just in case of an accident with a gun please ensure that you are carrying a first aid kit with sticking plasters that haven't passed their use by date.'_ Fools. Dolts. Idiots. Time serving buck passers incapable of understanding the field, or of making a sensible decision.

With this twaddle finally signed off for now he felt he had earned the right to a touch of self indulgence. Bizarrely, considering his attitude to paperwork, he rewarded himself for being a good boy by contacting Debra Langham's office, informing the hapless minion who answered that when he asked for details of Ruth's putative replacement he required a full unexpurgated file, not a brief résumé omitting details that might appear later on Facebook to the embarrassment of the entire service. A CV drafted under the guidance of some overpaid careers advisor accentuating the positive told him nothing about the candidate and everything about the likelihood of them accepting Harry's management style. As a maverick himself, whose successful career had been distinguished by his uncanny ability to judge when it was necessary to kick over the traces, Harry had no interest in party line candidates espousing politically correct platitudes combined with an adherence to iron clad protocol. He was more intrigued by those who had the potential to wriggle out of tight corners via plausible lies, or were capable of taking a bold independent decision when required. These days he'd not have survived the screening process, and neither would Adam Carter or Ros Myers, two of the finest officers he'd ever had the privilege to serve with. Erin Watts was still a trifle too rule bound for his taste, although he had to admit she was coming along rather nicely under his influence. She'd recently been complicit in more than one unblushing lie in the successful furtherance of their aims and he'd also noted that despite her earlier distress at the turn her personal life had taken neither she nor Dimitri had submitted the dreaded _'Permission to Socialise'_ form, a document that Harry personally thought should more bear a more accurate title, such as _'The Permit to Shag_.'

As the clock crept beyond one o'clock he began to fight down an impending twitchiness. No Jane, Dimitri and Laura, '_Don't worry Jane is probably reducing the director to a quivering wreck, with_ _luck_.' No Calum: '_he needs some sleep, I suppose_.' No Erin: '_I hope this augurs nothing more ominous than being distracted by a shoe shop._' And crucially no appearance from Malcolm whose beavering away had produced no wondrous revelations from the computer. Having completed his penance of paperwork Harry, considering that any action was better than pacing around his office like a moody lion, had half risen from his chair as a precursor to politely tackling Malcolm as to his progress, or lack of it, when the telephone rang.

The voice of the operator reflected the nervousness implicit in approaching Sir Harry vis a vis an unsolicited caller. "Sorry Sir. A woman needs to speak to you, she was most insistent. I tried to tell her you weren't available but..."

Hope sprang: Catherine!

"Very well, give me her name."

Hope died: Mrs Rebecca Smythe.

Oh God, as if he hadn't had enough GBH of the earhole from Jane. And as Rebecca was not residing under his roof it was unlikely that she would exercise the restraint of Jane had shown over the past couple of days. A random series of clicks heard through the receiver indicated that the caller had been successfully transferred and was all his. _'Lucky him'_. Before Harry could even murmur a polite and totally meaningless greeting his ears were assailed by a testy voice similar to Jane's, although Rebecca's utterances were totally lacking the flavour of caustic wit that formed the base note for many of her sister's comments**.**

"Is that you Harry? Because I need a word with you." The pitch at which this was stated made Harry think that '_a shout with you'_ might have been a more appropriate phrase. Resolved to be as determindly polite as possible, for as long as possible, which, in the light of their previous exchanges, was a time period that would probably be measured in seconds, he greeted her.

"Good afternoon Rebecca. I assume that this isn't a social call to inquire after my health. What can I do for you?"

Her reply didn't disappoint, brusque, direct and uncivil.

"No it isn't. You can tell me where my sister is."

Various frivolous replies ran through his mind but he rejected them. Only the extreme edges of worry would have pushed Rebecca into contacting him and Jane wouldn't be pleased if he was rude to her sister. Now was not the time for petty point scoring, or for analysing why Jane's wishes had suddenly assumed a paramount importance. Contemplating how best to answer her it occurred to Harry that Rebecca could have an ulterior motive. Had Robin persuaded her to act as his agent in an attempt to track Jane down? Jane, at long last, may be wise to her current husband's devious ploys, she'd sussed those of husband number one years ago, but did Rebecca know the full story? When last heard screeching at him Harry had received the distinct impression that Rebecca was of the opinion that Robin irradiated enough light from his backside to enable the sun to take a short break in summer.

"Why do think she's missing?" The oldest trick in the manual of spy self preservation, find out how much the enemy – not an inappropriate appellation for Rebecca – knew by answering a question with a question.

An exasperated Rebecca exhaled loudly down the receiver before yelling at a volume that would have negated the need for him to place the call on speaker phone.

"Because I had that piece of work she's married to ringing me up demanding to speak to her."

"And she isn't there?" Although attempting to sound innocent but concerned, it appeared to Harry that Erin wasn't the only person to have had problems with her fan club today.

Rebecca finally lost her temper, "First of all I got a peculiar phone call yesterday from Jane saying she'd touring around, something she never does, so not to worry. Then I get Robert yelling at me that Jane's walked out and he wants her back by the time he gets home. If not..." her voice halted, uncertainty and loyalty to her sister must be preventing her from repeating Robin's words in full, especially to Harry. He heard her sucking breath into her lungs before she continued in a more normal tone. "He sounded out of control and then just before he rang off he shouted something about bloody Pearce interfering."

"I thought he'd know I was the last person Jane would run to**." **_'True, I found her. No mention of Catherine I notice, and yet he knew she was missing if Laura's report was accurate_.' Harry could feel his anger with the man beginning to surface yet again as he recalled past unpleasant communications to the effect that as he was such an uncaring father he should butt out and leave the parenting to the solicitous Robin. Now Catherine's welfare didn't even rate a mention in the bastard's lexicon. Harry was peculiarly relieved that Jane had vetoed murdering the shit; it had left him free to plan a much more artistic revenge. Rebecca, meanwhile, was continuing to bray down the phone.

"Harry, just stop playing games. If you do know where she is just tell her that she's welcome to stay with me and damn Robin and his threats. You can also add that she hasn't fooled me over the last two years or so."

"I'd do no such thing..." he was interrupted by Rebecca screaming, "you uncaring bastard."

Harry was keeping a firm and increasingly shaky grip on his temper. Honestly, for years Rebecca had made it plain that the world in general, and his family's lives in particular, would be much pleasanter if his existence could somehow have been obliterated from history. Now he was suddenly expected to act as a superannuated goffer at the immediate clack of Rebecca's tongue. In attitude it put her on a par with the DG, the CIA and certain politicians. Much worse of everyone he could not say, other than the lovely Robin, Snuggle Bunny that was, not Batman's little chum.

"Rebecca, please listen to me. If I knew where Jane was '_True I don't know her exact whereabouts at present'_ "I'd refuse to have any part in dispatching her back to a husband she may have left and who, judging by what you've just told me, sounds deranged. "

The lack of response alarmed him. Rebecca rarely shut up. The statement that silence was golden having long since been translated by her as silence being the equivalent of pyrite**.** He hadn't heard any click to indicate that she'd hung up but why the brooding taciturnity?

"Rebecca, are you still there?"

The savage reply reassured him that she was still connected, "I shouldn't have bothered ringing. I knew you'd be no help."

"If you can stop shouting for a minute answer me one simple question. Was Robin threatening just Jane or you as well?

The reply was halting but clear. "Both. I doubt he really meant it though, he was just very angry. Anyway Jane's my sister, I'll take the risk."

Much as Harry loathed Rebecca he admired her courage. "No Rebecca you will not."

"Don't you dare tell me what to do you arrogant swine – have you any idea what you put Jane through. Not to mention your children."

Listening to her shrieking Harry began to understand anew why his ex brother in law worked away from home so frequently. Had James also acquired an equivalent to Smoochie Babe? Reckoning that even his eardrums had their tolerance limit Harry cut firmly across her rant.

"Working on the assumption that your sole brain cell is not taking a well deserved holiday, and since you're the one who wanted to talk to me perhaps you would do me the courtesy of shutting up for a minute and listen."

The affronted gasp at the other end of the receiver advised him to talk quickly. "Rebecca you will not take that risk because Jane would not want you to. You will do the following. Firstly you will consent to me to putting you on the MI5 family alert list. With Snugg..." ...oops ...he'd nearly said Snuggle Bunny..."Er... Robin threatening the ex wife of a Senior MI5 officer this is a potentially dangerous situation. You will also contact the number I'm about to give you in the event of Robin or anyone else making threats or acting suspiciously. Finally you also contact me if Robin gets in touch again."

Rebecca, while sounding slightly more placating didn't soften easily, he'd give her that. He also remembered that she'd been fighting serious illness recently. She was no doubt trying to return Jane's support and Jane might need her, which meant, inevitably, that he had to protect Rebecca as well. For years he'd wanted family contact, within the last few hours he'd acquired it with a vengeance. What was that saying about being careful what you wish for... But he was, at present, on better terms with Jane. For the first time in months his life held some small chink of personal hope. He'd walk a long way barefoot to preserve that precarious alliance. On balance helping Rebecca was the marginally less painful option.

Rebecca had revived sufficiently to ask a pertinent question. "Why the hell should I do what you want and why are you offering anyway? I'm not your ex and we've never liked each other."

"Personally I'd be happy if I never heard or saw you again Rebecca, but Jane no doubt feels differently and you've always been there for her. The fact we're having this conversation at all suggests that you still are." With an honesty that might just disarm her he added. "You want to help Jane and since through helping you to do that I can annoy the other idiot she married it's no contest. Now will you do as I ask, please?"

There was a few minutes silence as Rebecca was plainly weighing up the odds. Finally with grudge in every syllable she concluded, "Very well, you haven't fooled me. I know you know where Jane is but if you can get Robin off our backs okay. Give me that number."

Harry pinged his way through a few files and read off the number. "Got that? Good. I'll send an alert to them."

He didn't expect thanks, which was just as well since she rang off with, "And when you do see Jane tell her she makes a crap choice of husband." '_I love you too Rebecca.'_

The whole conversation left Harry reflecting that when you married you didn't just marry the person, you married their family. On that basis it seemed unlikely that Catherine and Graham would ever hit the altar, registry office or any one of the various peculiar venues in which people chose to tie the hangman's knot these days. The son of one of Harry's old army acquaintances had recently celebrated his nuptials in a football club...football!...now Lord's cricket ground,... that might have been more like it. Unbidden and quickly suppressed was the thought, '_If she'd said, yes, if their lives had turned out otherwise_ w_hat would Ruth have opted for, something Greek and classical? A simple ceremony with just two witnesses? Or would she have thought a ring and certificate superfluous?_' Might have beens. Should have beens. Never would be. Never meant. He simply couldn't afford, at this moment, to brood on such thoughts. Especially when the whoosh of the pods was proclaiming that Erin had just returned, sporting a bag from, if he was not mistaken, a rather expensive dress shop. Time to question her about her priorities; especially after her exhibition this morning.

As Harry approached he saw Erin was talking to Malcolm. She'd obviously noticed his scowl as she hurriedly explained, "This is not what you think Harry. Yes I went shopping but I was shaking a potential tail."

His face dared her to elucidate. "I contacted the asset as promised giving the code word Ros had left in her file. She agreed to meet at a small coffee bar about ten minutes from the embassy. Anyone listening in would think we were old friends meeting up for lunch. Robin was to shadow and, I hope you don't mind, but I also asked another junior officer to go to the cafe a few minutes before me, witness and handy if things got rough. That way Robin could keep his cover."

"Very well continue."

"When I got to the cafe there was no sign of her. I waited, looked as if I was reading a book." Harry's impatience was beginning to mount, he knew all about remaining unobtrusive in the field, how else had he survived to be standing here snorting with irritation**.** Erin may have noticed the familiar signs as she hastened onwards, "Anyway after fifteen minutes I thought I'd lingered long enough. I was about to pay my bill when she arrived."

"What had kept her?"

"I couldn't ask as she sat down apologising. It was clear she was rattled. We had a conversation, the type you have with old friends you've not seen for ages but she began by including a code sentence that told me she was possibly being watched, Ros had left some code keys to trigger phrases, they sound innocent but have hidden meaning." '_And next week Erin I'll be tasking you with teaching your Grandmother to suck eggs.'_

He managed to confine his response to, "So you weren't able to acquire any Intel?"

Erin hadn't finished. "Eventually she suggested, casually in case anyone was listening in, that we departed to the Ladies. From which I assume she thought it was a man who might be following her."

Harry reflected that this would look natural. Like most men he'd frequently wondered why women had to go to the toilet in pairs. It was one of those mysteries that came under the general heading of feminine mystique; as puzzle it was right up there with why did women like pink, not understand the beauty of cricket and complain that sex might spoil a relationship.

Erin was now describing the hidden activities that had taken place in the temple sacred to womanhood. "Once we were in there she put a finger on her lips, obviously worried about being bugged, but pulled a piece of paper out of her bag. The flushing of the loos disguised the rustle. We went out, sat down, finished our coffee, kissed affectionately and left."

"So why go shopping?"

"That was my cover story if we were overheard. Out for the day, needing to buy a dress for an evening party. Just in case I was being followed..."

"And were you?" '_What a convenient cover, a shopping trip in work hours –were you purchasing a post row man trap for Dimitri_?"

"According to the signal Robin gave me when I left the cafe the asset hadn't been followed but I didn't want to take the risk as he may have missed something. Just in case I was being watched I stuck to the story, went shopping for long enough to either convince a tail or make it so obvious they were following they had to give up. I returned here via a combination of tube routes to make sure. I hope our asset is safe. "

"Very well, what did you get?"

"A rather nice dress for the Reception. I've worn my other..."

God give him patience. "Erin from the asset. Dimitri can admire the dress on the night**." **'_And in his position, if I was in a relationship with you I'd be surveying the fastenings with a view to striping it off you later.'_

Malcolm who, unlike Harry, had never had much interest in women's clothing beyond the purely professional, intervened as this point waving a small piece of writing paper under his nose.

"She brought us this."

Malcolm was regarding the paper with a thrilled expression, the one that a hunter might have worn when a kill was in his sights. Harry sensing Malcolm's excitement stared at the jumble of letters that made no sense whatsoever to him before remonstrating, "Malcolm."

"Onto it. It's a code. Fortunately this asset is so cautious Ros had several codes. Thankfully she also left us the keys to them, encrypted in her notes, but recoverable."

Harry blessed the shade of Ros Myers. His life held many regrets for actions taken, but the vengeance he'd taken on Nicholas Blake for her death wasn't among them. He only wished he could have avenged Ruth personally. Tom Quinn had been an efficient but second best option. Ultimately though, the person who bore the primary responsibility for her death was himself. Sasha Gavrik may have been the one to stab her but Harry had been the intended victim. If only he'd been more insistent that she returned to the bunker...a moment or two quicker to grab her and pull her out of the way...hadn't fallen for Elena's lies_..._trusted his old buddy Jim Coaver... _'Pearce stop it you can't afford depression, your family needs you. _'

After few minutes he heard Malcolm exclaim, "Got it."

"Well." He didn't like the apprehensive look on Malcolm's face. Harry knew what bad news looked like, the natural result of rarely receiving the opposite.

The grave response was to thrust a decoded sentence into his hand. Harry squinted at the phrases written in Malcolm's old fashioned script with mounting horror.

'_Operation Rambo. Close down. Kill order confirmed.' _

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**Thanks for taking the time to read. Please review if you have a moment_._**


	26. Chapter 26

**_Thanks to those who've read and even more thanks to all those who've reviewed this story at some point._**

* * *

_The Grid. Approx 2.00pm_

To a sleep refreshed Calum emerging from the pods the three figures positioned around Malcolm's computer bore the all the appearance of a waxworks tableau, frozen and unmoving as they gazed at the monitor. Judging by their dismayed expressions they could have been transfixed by something regurgitated from the Chamber of Horrors. The illusion of stillness was shattered by Erin reading aloud, in a confused voice, the freshly decoded message.

Irrepressible as ever Calum smirked at the mystified faces before groaning, "That's all we need, the Vietcong involved."

Erin swirled around at the sound, "Calum..." The inflection was condemnatory. Calum's response was to assume a hurt tone in reply. "I'm simply congratulating Harry on his hole in one."

Harry's antipathy to everything golf related, with the possible exception of the nineteenth hole, was notorious. And he was not in the mood to tolerate Calum's ill judged attempts at humour. Glaring across the Grid he tetchily reprised a stock question from yesteryear, "Do you want to be taken out and shot?"

"Harry you're the one who suggested he was military." As the uncomprehending looks continued Calum sighed, "Rambo - film series - a disaffected solider returning to America. Don't you lot ever chill? Go to the cinema!" The answers that superseded the blank faces suggested not.

"Harry opts for a large whisky whereas I prefer a good book."

"Not to see gratuitous violence and people being tortured – I get enough of that at work." Calum's reply to Erin was laconic, "In that case I assume that you don't watch romantic blockbusters either, given that you also get enough of that at work.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a quick annoyed twitch of Erin's head reminded him that Harry was present. A rookie navvy on a building site couldn't have dropped a more crashing brick even if, unlike Erin, Harry's principal problem had been that he hadn't had enough romance at work. Ever assuming that that was the most appropriate adjective with which to describe Harry's abnormally convoluted relationship with Ruth. Amazed that Harry seemed to be ignoring him Calum nervously awaited his deferred annihilation.

Harry hadn't actually heeded Calum's last words, something in the first throw away remarks had triggered a mental connection that Harry couldn't quite thread. It was as if, in the historic sea of Harry's mind, a porpoise had surfaced and glimmered briefly before returning to the murky subterranean depths of his thoughts and recollections. Harry gave himself a shake, for now the link evaded him. It was no use chasing it, if it ...whatever it was ... had any substance it would return afresh as the operation progressed.

Any possibility of his pondering further was disturbed by the ringing of Malcolm's phone. As soon as he heard the statement, "I'll come down for her," Calum realised that the lip reader had arrived in Thames House. Keen to remove himself lest Harry suddenly recalled his tactless words Calum selflessly volunteered, "I'll fetch her Malcolm, that'll give you time to put together a montage of the relevant clips." Before Malcolm could protest he was gone, vanishing at a pace that could have produced a new set of physics theorems with regard to the relationship of light, speed and time.

As Calum exited any potential conversation between Harry and Malcolm was interrupted by the approach of a junior officer bouncing across the Grid with a gait reminiscent of an excited Labrador puppy, waving a sheaf of papers as she announced excitedly, "Got him."

Although she'd been addressing Malcolm it was Harry who edgily enquired, "Got who precisely Janet? Jack the Ripper, the missing link or just possibly the mole in the hole of the traffic department. Kindly elucidate."

Shaken at being addressed by the most senior person on the Grid the answer was subdued but matter of fact. "The mole in the traffic department. I've checked the three suspects with recent deposits, one has recently inherited a half share in a five bedroom house in London and another has won that a sum on the National Lottery that matches the deposit. That accounts for the sudden blossoming of their bank accounts."

"So then there was one."

"Yes. This one." Janet, well aware of her boss's touch paper temper, was suffering from nerves. "And Sir, I'm not trying to be funny, he really is called Ben Dover."

Repressing a comment about the lack of consideration some people displayed when naming their children, Mr Giles Farmer skim read the information on offer before handing it to Malcolm. The latter scanned it for a moment before enquiring, "Do you want me to take a further look at this now that we're fairly clear as to the culprits?"

Harry considered the question. Turning to Janet he issued his instructions."Have him picked up quietly at the end of his shift. We need to remain undercover as well. And pass that information to our Neil Thomson, he's our finance expert. Ask him to try and trace the money trail. Good work Janet."

Gratified by the praise Janet scurried away to carry out her orders; thankful that she didn't have to ask anything further. She didn't want to be the person to test case the ever prevalent rumour that, when really incensed, Sir Harry's bite was definitely worse than his bark. Harry turned back to Malcolm and Erin explaining his seemingly superfluous decision. "We still don't know exactly who and what is behind this, and loose ends do have a bad habit of tripping us up."

Further discussion was terminated by the arrival of Calum accompanying a small, smartly dressed, confident looking woman. His attempt to make introductions was prevented when Malcolm moved forward to shake her by the hand, "Ah Monica. Thanks for coming in so quickly. Calum you've already met, this is Erin Watts our Section Chief and this is Sir Harry Pearce."

Introductions completed, handshakes given, welcomes uttered, Harry led the way into the Briefing Room. While Malcolm busied himself setting up the necessary hardware Monica, looking straight at Harry, said frankly,

"I hope that you're not expecting too much from this. Malcolm has outlined that the clips are from CCTV footage. It's difficult enough sometimes to identify the person from those, let alone what they may be saying."

From across the table Malcolm, still twiddling with the laptop, reassured her, "Understood. I've tried to clean up and enhance some of the images."

"Very well. But often context and accent are important in working out what is being said. Do you have that at least?"

Harry interrupted, his irritation with all these warnings becoming obvious. "If we had the full context we wouldn't have needed to call you in." Aware from Erin's glinting eyes just how discourteous this had sounded he added in a softer tone, "But anything at all would help. We're not sure of the exact context. If it is relevant we think that both men are American but one speaks with an English accent. We also suspect that one may be military."

Monica seemed to accept the implied apology, "Very well. But no promises." Turning to Malcolm she reminded him, "You know the form, show me the first clip and then wind it back." As his finger hovered over the computer keyboard she added, "I hope you're all prepared for a lot of repetition."

Calum shrugged, "That's okay, we've been well blooded by the digital TV channels."

Monica's eyes narrowed slightly but any comment was averted by Malcolm hastily calling out, "Ready."

Monica hadn't lied. After an hour of frame by frame slow motion repetition, occasionally broken when she felt the need to scribble a brief note, a miasma of frustrated tedium hung over the Briefing room like a banner. Harry and his increasingly unhappy little band might not have the skill to interpret the words but after sixty minutes of viewing they could have lip synched in mime every last miniscule wobble of the two subjects' lips. Just as Calum was about to enquire, in his own imitable phraseology, as to how much longer they would be required to endure Groundhog Day Grid style Monica finally uttered the magic phrase, "I've finished."

Harry was fighting hard to maintain the pretence that this was an operation like any other, but he'd been increasingly tested as he watched Catherine's enlarged image on the screen. Who were these men with his daughter? Catherine might be thirty plus but she was still his little girl. Dads and Daughters! Somehow he'd never felt quite so protective of Graham. Was this the favouritism of which his son had so often accused him or was it simply genetic; the impulse of the unreconstructed male to protect his womenfolk? Any enlightenment Monica could provide, however limited, would be an antidote to the creeping dread that was building with every additional hour that Catherine was missing.

Monica was sharing her findings. "Very well. The man in the cafe, clearly they were having a row. Due to his turning head I lost some words. As I said earlier this is not an exact science."

Having sat through a precious hour that would never return, just hear Monica repeat her original apologia, Calum's frustrations were beginning rival Harry's. "Yes we get that, we realise that whatever you tell us is on a par with staring at chicken bones, casting the runes and consulting the giant pixie so ..."

"That's enough Calum. Monica is simply advising us to take care." Erin turned soothe the fuming Monica, "Sorry, sleep deprivation, he was up all night. Anything you can tell us will be useful. We know it's not admissible but we really are desperate for some type of clue."

Malcolm, wincing at the rough ride his contact was being given, chalked up the action as a positive in Erin's favour. Normally Harry would have intervened but he was plainly struggling to hold himself together. That he'd succeeded so far came as a huge relief to Malcolm. Alone among the Grid personnel he could recall Harry's near melt down several years ago when Catherine had first stumbled across the Grid radar. Then there was the question of Harry's borderline hysterics in the Lebanon when trying to locate his badly injured daughter, productive of actions Harry was so ashamed of he'd confessed them too few. Recalling these precedents it occurred to Malcolm that in striking contrast to those occasions Harry was, at present, remaining comparatively calm. Applying his technical officer mindset to the conundrum the only variable factor Malcolm could discern between then and now was the physical presence of Jane. Was that the reason? Unexpectedly united through a common concern Harry's need to remain strong in her eyes was preventing him from falling apart. Internally Malcolm sighed, Harry's dealings with the women inhabiting his life had long been a puzzle to him, but then personal relationships had never been Malcolm's forte. Emotions were illogical and unpredictable, Malcolm would much rather deal with computers; but if he was correct perhaps Jane's temporary incursion into Harry's life wasn't the curse he'd originally supposed. These ruminations were hurriedly shelved as Monica began to expound on her caveat riddled conclusions.

"The cafe argument, I did manage to get a few words. Possibly '_they are after me_' and '_however secure they'll find it_.' As he walked away he seemed to be muttering, '_She won't listen_.' I couldn't swear to it though."

Harry nodded, "It does make sense, especially the last bit." '_Takes after her mother'_ "and the other man?"

"That was a little clearer. He seemed to be saying, '_You need a lift_." Followed by, '_best not to meet on your own._' But as I've said, it's largely dependent on context and guess work."

"Yes we do understand you can't swear to it. Thank you Monica." Standing up Malcolm added, "I'll escort you out."

Harry, very aware of how the anxiety of his staff had translated into incivility, also stood up, saying in an attempt at amendment, "I do apologise if we've offended you at all. Please believe that it has been helpful."

A somewhat mollified Monica shrugged, "It's okay. I'm used to people thinking I can perform miracles on a small amount of inadequate information. I'm sure you know the feeling."

Malcolm, having seen her off the premises, while proffering his own regrets at her treatment, was back within a few minutes. Sitting with the others in an uncomfortably thickening silence it was Erin who finally dared to ask. "Er, Harry what do we tell Jane about these developments?" She couldn't summon up the nerve to add what they were all thinking, that Catherine's fate was looking increasingly grim. They all knew the score, in their profession no one received a passport stamp to the land of happy ever.

"I'll be telling her the truth. I promised her that, and if...well...there is something to be said for preparation." As his voice trailed off dismally he was looking at his watch and wondering anew at the length of Jane's absence. How long did it take to discuss a few play extracts? His speculation was providentially terminated by the whoosh of the pods proclaiming the return of the absentees, followed almost immediately by a fired up Laura bursting into the Briefing Room.

"Don't feel obliged to knock Laura!"

Laura was only slightly abashed by the admonishment. "Sorry Si...Harry I thought that just applied to your office."

"So what do you have to report?"

"Well, Jane was awesome."

Dimitri following close behind observed Harry and Malcolm wince in unison. Biting his lip he informed them, "For once that overworked word is accurate. Harry, can you possibly wangle Jane as a consultant for any further events of this nature? The director didn't stand an earthly."

"Rubbish, all I did was point out a few pertinent facts he was clearly unaware of." This last was uttered by a drained looking Jane as she limped wearily towards a chair, sinking onto it with an exhausted posture that reminded Harry of how he not infrequently felt after an afternoon of arguing with the Smug Dictator upstairs, aka the DG.

"Enlighten me please?" As they all exchanged glances he ordered, "Security concerns first – Dimitri!"

"We arrived well in time, so that gave Jane a good opportunity to decide what to advise in terms of dramatic movement. You've seen the layout on paper Harry, bar at one end of the room, centre wooden floor and the plan was for tables to be set around the other three sides. Jane and I decided that we could cope with theatre in the round with entrance and exits at what were effectively the corners of the square. We would be policing those areas anyway and the sides of the bar let into two rooms that could be used for changing etc. Two of the entrance corners would be from those rooms but the actors would use another door that gave onto corridors to reach the far end corners when necessary."

"And he agreed to change his plans just like that?" Erin, having heard Dimitri's unexpurgated opinion of the man in charge, was wondering how that particular miracle had been wrought.

"Not exactly. When he had finally arrived, half an hour late..."

"Hand in hand with a bloke called Crispin looking smoochy." Ignoring Laura's contribution Dimitri continued, "He was a trifle taken aback by Jane and Laura's presence but recovered enough to greet them with..." While Dimtri paused, wondering how to phrase what happened next, Laura taking advantage of his hesitation demonstrated once more her talent for mimicry, "_Darling Dimitri, and what a delightful surprise that you've brought two little ladies with you to assist with the joys of reinterpreting the glorious Bard_. _Do call me Gawain sweeties_."

With a salutation of that patronising nature Harry half suspected that the problems had been resolved via murder by clipboard. He'd covered up messier incidents. "So what did you say - sweetie?"

The sarcasm instantly rebounded."Well - honeybunch - I informed him that at five foot eight I'm somewhat taller than the average female and that the difference between reinterpretation and misinterpretation is not simply a matter of semantics. I told him that his idea of holding a promenade performance was being spiked on practical grounds. And also that the running time had to be reduced to bladder comfort length, which meant one hour maximum, not the two and half hours his plans would run to."

Calum interrupted to query, "What exactly is a promenade performance anyway?"

"Basically the cast act everywhere and anywhere. If you happen to be sitting where the actors need to be you move off and sit somewhere else, which means mingling with others in the audience. It can make a night at the theatre quite exhausting and not a little fraught."

Returning to the actual plan Harry stated, "I take it that you prevailed."

"Yes, but only after a very long, acrimonious argument." Flicking a glance in Dimitri's direction Harry conjectured that she was deliberately understating the facts. His eyes fixed her with an unspoken instruction to expand.

"I finally convinced him that with the amount of booze on offer, plus the tendency of women to wear high heels he didn't want to risk a tottering diplomat's wife crashing into an actor spilling peanuts and canapés everywhere. Secondly if he didn't curtail the length the cast would also have to contend with the audience wandering through the action looking for their next drink, which might limit the suspension of disbelief somewhat. Finally given the nature of the audience some groups needed to be kept well apart, not pushed into a general medley of movement." Giving due credit she ended with, "Dimitri was a great help there by pointing out previous disastrous incidents."

Harry glared at Dimitri, "Official Secrets..."

"Still intact. I made most of them up or exaggerated. Except for the one where you decked the assassin."

Erin briefly closed her eyes, first Calum's oblique referenceto Ruth, now Dimitri insensitively resurrecting the debacle at the Gavrik Reception that Ruth had partnered Harry to, and in front of Jane. Fortunately for the second time in the afternoon Harry had failed to react to a memory riddled statement**.** Erin couldn't believe their luck given the care they'd had to exert to date. Was Harry oblivious due to more immediate worries, or was he finally moving on?

Harry had in fact heard Dimitri, and noticed Erin's flicker of alarm. As a matter of policy he was feigning unconcern at both**.** With images of Ruth permeating every chink of the Grid he'd trained himself not to flinch at the inevitable careless remark**. **Nothing in his pain strewn life had prepared him for the intense agony he'd experienced on that first day when, fresh from viewing those bald letters R EVERSHED carved on the memorial wall, he'd been disturbed by the uncaring urgent sound of his telephone proclaiming that for others life went on as normal. He'd so nearly walked away but in that moment when he finally grasped the receiver and intoned '_Harry Pearce'_ he'd made his decision: whatever the emotional cost he was staying. The impassive mask he'd initially adopted as a survival technique had gradually become engrained through sheer necessity. If he'd crumbled at every casual reference that recalled her face, her eyes, her sheer brilliance, he'd have been reduced to a tear drenched rubble within a fortnight of returning to work. His anguish had become static, frozen, unreachable and intensely personal. Trapped in the numbness of his self imposed emotional isolation he knew what to except on the Grid where everyone persisted in tiptoeing around him wearing the verbal equivalent of bedroom slippers. Jane by contrast, basking in her complete ignorance of his recent past, was trampling around his psyche in hobnailed boots. He could never have anticipated that his carefully constructed defences would be fractured so easily; that her unwitting remarks would threaten to plunge him back into that disabling realm of active grief. How had she, a virtual stranger, managed to breach his privacy when others closer to him had failed? It was a mystery question to which he'd seek the answer when he had the time, if ever. For now, maintaining his habitual facade, he gave voice to his more pressing concern.

"What took so long?"

Thankful to move onwards Dimitri replied. "Ah Harry, well that's where Jane really came up trumps. Remember the Macbeth extract she described earlier today?" Harry nodded, who could forget that tasteless idea. "Well seemingly he had other interpretations in mind that were just as bad, if not worse."

"Good God." Rarely did the usually diffident Malcolm expostulate so passionately.

Looking gravely across at Malcolm Jane agreed. "Exactly so. Favoured suggestions featured _'Henry V'_ reinterpreted as a battle against all England's enemies, with the opposition wearing tabards painted with the flags of the EU countries and various Middle Eastern hotspots."

Whatever expression existed beyond aghast Harry was wearing it, and that was prior to Dimitri informing the company, "A mild variation compared to some of the other intended treats."

The group in the meeting room was now dividing into two camps. On the side of age and experience sat Harry and Malcolm who were agog and appalled, on the side of youth the less diplomatically atuned Calum and Erin were merely agog. Harry, dreading to think what came next croaked, "Continue."

It was Laura who obliged, "Next up was '_The Taming of the Shrew'_, with Catherine's submission to Petruchio being visibly indicated by her wearing the full burka."

"What! Hasn't the bloody man any idea of the offence that could cause?" Harry was seething.

Jane didn't think that Harry had fully grasped that they'd been locking horns with the Gordon Gecko of the Arts world, a man who regarded any opposing view as irrelevant to his own conduct while flaunting the paraphrased motto, '_offence is good_'. Consequently her exasperation wasn't quite hidden as she replied with asperity.

"Probably yes as he was using a bin bag, something to do with pointing out how oppressive and rubbish religion is to women. And don't get me started on the gender neutral but ultra camp fairies in '_A Midsummer Night's_ _Dream_' " Having given Harry a few moments during which his face reverted from an interesting shade of deep plum to a red tinged hue that his doctor might find acceptable she asked, "Do you want to hear the rest? Because if so do shut up or we'll be here all night."

As he remained mute she continued, "He also had in mind a scene from _'Romeo and Juliet'_ in which Romeo was gay but turned by Juliet." This time it was Malcolm who interrupted, "Surely Romeo had previously been lusting after Rosalind!"

Jane, recognising in Malcolm a kindred spirit familiar with text and context, smiled briefly as she answered. "Correct, but in this version we have a vision of Rosalind, depicted as a man in drag."

Sensing that Harry's silence was not limitless she hurtled onwards, "but the absolute piece de resistance was the reinterpretation of '_The Tempest'_ which could be have been subtitled as, 'E_verything you every wanted to know about the human body but were afraid to ask_." The faces were expectant. "That scrumptious highlight featured a nude Miranda being simultaneously rogered by two men. Not so much the glorious Bard as the gloriously bared."

Her eyes staring directly at Harry she thought her real victory of the day lay in finally rendering him speechless, he looked as though he was struggling to articulate but finding the necessary words utterly beyond him. How often did that happen? Savouring the moment she moved to put him out of his misery. "Don't worry I've talked him out these and other ideas."

Harry and Malcolm might have left it at that but Calum had to ask, "How?" Seeing just a hint of a blush on Jane's cheeks Harry revived sufficiently to insist, "You'd better tell me the worst. He might complain to Towers."

Divining that Jane needed a breathing space in which to recover her composure Dimitri offered his précis of her less embarrassing statements. "She pointed out that culturally backward countries are offended by digs at religion and don't accept that homosexuality exists which meant that his suggestions would be considered utterly offensive rather seen in the light of an academic discussion point. That didn't cut much ice until she added that if half the audience walked out in disgust the press would be onto it like flies round a carcase. He might despise the establishment but upset them too badly and he could kiss goodbye to any future funding. If however, he was seeking pole position on the politically correct equivalent of a Arts blacklist he could go ahead and force her to cancel the entire evening."

"And then she became really blunt." At Laura's words Jane returned to the fray. "I simply mentioned a few ideas that hadn't occurred to him."

Curiosity overbore apprehension as Harry asked , "Such as?"

"When this prat stated that he didn't think most of the audience would mind staring at a naked woman, he was celebrating the female form you see..."

Calum demurred a trifle, "With my working hours I'd have quite enjoyed a reminder of what the female form looks like."

Erin's kneejerk protest at such blatant sexism was destined to remain stillborn, halted by Harry whose faith in Jane's tongue was absolute. "I suspect Jane knocked that idea on the head, or should I say kicked it in the crutch?" Meeting her eyes he queried mildly, "Am I right?"

Jane pulled a face in reply, "How well you know me, unfortunately. I advised him that women also perv, as in celebrating the male form." Dimitri amplified in increasingly unsteady voice. "Along with a few other choice reflections."

Jane's next question hinted at a reluctance to expound further. "I've persuaded him out of anything controversial, which is all you really need to know." She ended on a hopeful note which was instantly shot down as Shakespeare morphed into pantomime with a concerted, '"Oh no it isn't," from her audience.

"Very well. You have been warned. ... Gentlemen."

With her deliberate emphasis on that last word Harry, Malcolm and Calum shuffled uneasily, had they been too hasty, what precisely had Jane said to reduce the appallingly pretentious Gawain to mincemeat? It was too late to retract. Jane had launched herself into full flow, eager to complete the report.

"I... er... got somewhat basic and pointed out that it was highly unlikely that any male actor would agree to appear nude if all he had dangling between his two veg was something that could be mistaken for one of the cocktail sausages. Assuming that some fairly well endowed males were on full show a number husbands and escorts might begin to feel somewhat inadequate in the trouser department; and that was before the women in their lives, who'd inevitably be making mental comparisons, could also feel somewhat short changed. Did he honestly want his audience departing with an overwhelming sense of discontent? Further to that I added that as there would be a number of very attractive women present he was running the risk of an involuntary physical reaction from his male cast."

Dimitri chipped in, "She wound up by asking if he really thought it was a good idea to present Mrs Whoever with an eyeful of erect scrotum. He had no answer to that mental battering. Then Crispin announced that they were already late for face time with an innovative like minded group who really appreciated the need to make William relevant to the modern world. With that Gawain reluctantly decided that we were a lost cause and surrendered with barbed remarks about conventional ossified middle class minds."

Relieved that Jane had won, the crunch question remained, "So what exactly does this filleted performance feature?"

"We start with the John of Gaunt speech from Richard II, move through a number of extracts on the theme of love in various guises – minus burkas and with everyone fully clothed – and end with a speech from the Tempest. I told him the only alternative was a recitation of the Sonnets." She ended uncertainly, conscious that she may have overstepped her status, "I hope you didn't object to my pinning your name onto that Harry."

Harry's immediate reaction was that far from objecting only the presence of the team prevented him from kissing her with gratitude; in a strictly platonic, hands off mode of course. Without her intervention it wasn't only bits of the various actors' anatomies that would have been endangered. It was a tossup as to which parts of Harry the DG would have demanded on a platter, his head or his round spherical objects. Harry may not have much practical use for the latter these days but he was still attached to them and would prefer it if they remained attached to him.

Dimitri was winding up the verbal report with, "Just to be on the safe side Jane is going to draw up a running order for the agreed scenes so he can't sneak anything in. I've delegated Laura to attend all the rehearsals. That way she can check for any deviance."

"I assume you're using that phrase advisedly Dimriti. You two need to write up your reports, as does Jane." Noting her scowl he apologised. "Sorry but as you've seemingly become our Arts Advisor I need it on paper." That she now had an accreditation was news to Jane but she had promised to cooperate, even if that did include submitting the paperwork that infested every activity. "Fine, but someone needs to show me the official format."

As everyone else departed from the Briefing Room Harry indicated to Jane to remain. During the last few minutes the horrors narrowly averted at the Reception had superseded the horror they were living in with regard their errant daughter. Now with that briefest of lulls receding Harry had to break the news to Jane that it wasn't looking good. How he wished he could prevaricate or soothe her with false hope but it wouldn't work. After nearly a decade of marriage to him Jane was probably the world expert on detecting his lies and evasion. He was wondering how to broach the topic when she said quietly, "I hope my comments didn't make Malcolm cringe. I really had to be crude to get through to that idiot."

Once again Harry paid tribute to her perception. She wasn't concerned about the sensibilities of the other three males who'd been present, and she was, of course, quite correct in her assumption.

"They probably did, but I'm certain that Malcolm's also grateful that you stamped on such dreadful ideas. Personally I found your comments on women's reactions to male nudity most illuminating. Remind me never to infiltrate a hen party."

"Huh, anyone would think that you had something to worry in a crown jewels comparison." As a glimpse of fleeting alarm decorated his features she assured him wryly, "That nugget of information remains classified." The subject was closed by her asking him in a voice tinged with desperation, "More importantly have you made any progress with finding Catherine?"

She received her answer, but not from Harry who was steeling himself to honesty. Instead the reply came from Calum bursting into the room as he announced in an urgent voice.

"Harry, the decoder has opened up the memory stick. Malcolm says you really need to come. Now!"

* * *

**_Most of these ideas for 'modern' takes on Shakespeare I made up. The Tempest however is an exact description of an experimental production I saw many years ago._**

**_Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment. _**


	27. Chapter 27

**_Thanks once again to all those who read and especially to those who took the trouble to review._**

* * *

_The Grid approx 3.30pm_

Within seconds of Calum's appearance in his office Harry was dashing out the door, very nearly knocking Calum off his feet in the process. Jane, forced by her nuisance of an ankle to follow behind at a more sedate pace, paused for a moment as Calum steadied himself, while making one of his trade mark comments.

"The last time I saw him move so quickly was when he saw the DG approaching his whisky stash."

"The only two real loves of his life Calum – malt and his daughter, I'm not entirely sure one which edges it."

The reaction from the normally insouciant Calum startled her, instead of responding to her lightly meant remark in kind his face took on a guarded look, the one she remembered well from Harry. She'd christened it his 'spook look' serious and hiding... well who knew what... the whole point was that it was hiding whatever had to be hidden. Did Calum's 'spooked look' relate to Harry or to himself? All spies were human carriers of the clandestine and she suspected that most of them preserved their sanity by compartmentalising, Harry just happened to be better at it than most. If anyone asked her for an off the cuff description of her secretive ex she'd be tempted to answer '_a filing cabinet of covert secrets wrapped in a bespoke suit.'_

As Jane and Calum arrived at the their destination, the computer monitor upon which the eyes of the entire team were affixed, all she had a chance to register was that the video being played was of a dubious quality, a few notches up from the CCTV footage that had adorned the Briefing room screen, but several below what would be expected from a night at the local multiplex. She had no further opportunity to exercise her critical skills. Harry, having heard her approach, straightened up and turned around to face her, his body effectively blocking her view of the screen.

In a harsh voice he insisted, "No, Jane this is not something for your eyes."

In his anxiety to protect her Harry had reverted to boss default, completely forgetting just how much Jane loathed Harry the Spy. It only took the time Jane needed to draw breath for her to refresh his malfunctioning memory.

"How dare you dictate to me! Is this what you meant by honesty? In your true colours after all. Just get out of my way."

As an angry Jane moved to push him aside, Harry was, for once, grateful for his desk induced girth. His gradually expanding physical bulk may have earned him endless pamphlet strewn admonishments from the Thames House medics but it was proving to be a useful aid in obscuring Jane's defiant attempts to peer around him. Hitting a woman was distinctly against Harry's code of conduct, grabbing one as she made to shove him aside most definitely wasn't. Grasping her arm firmly he pulled her away from the work station, ignoring her gasp of astonishment at his temerity, while shouting an order over his shoulder to Malcolm.

"Burn that onto a DVD, four copies, one to be sealed and secured. And bring one to my office."

Jane was still struggling as he turned back to state quietly but firmly, "Jane, my office, now. I don't want to drag you in there. But if I have to I will."

His first urgent words had been motivated by an alarmed concern, but with that one moment's lack of sensitivity the whole delicate edifice of unity he'd managed to create with the near hysterical woman he was grasping had collapsed. Inwardly he was berating himself. Who knew better than he how Jane felt about his habits of secrecy. If he did have to make good his threat he could forget any chance of extending their truce into a peace treaty. No one would have suspected that he was inwardly quivering at the possible consequences of his involuntary reaction. His long practiced air of authority conspired to hide his nerves as he awaited her decision.

Jane recognised the expression on Harry's face, determined and shut down. Glimpsing beyond the solid wall of his body the uncomfortable looks of the team, she felt cornered, confronted with two choices. Either make a scene and be manually hauled into Harry's office or pipe down, enter his sanctum of her own accord and argue in privacy. A testing wriggle of her arms advised her that she was clamped in an unshakeable grip. Submitting, at least temporarily, seemed the most dignified option. A choice also dictated by the consideration that while she could match him with her tongue any day of the week, physically he was stronger than herself, and trained to deal with opponents who were infinitely more vicious. That yet again she'd been painted into a corner and forced to acquiesce to his demands wasn't improving her mood any.

"Very well, as you wish. But take your hands off me."

Harry slackened his hold slightly, enough to enable her to twist out of his grasp and stomp mutely into his office without a backwards look, her demeanour oozing indignation out of every pore.

Jane stormed into Harry's red walled goldfish bowl with every intention of continuing the dispute. As she crossed its threshold, preparing to bawl him out, she was pulled up short by the sight of the framed picture of Catherine. The photograph, last seen in Catherine's flat, was now residing on the shelves behind Harry's desk. Jane was certain that it hadn't been on display when she'd last graced this office, then also intent on giving Harry an ear bashing regarding his treatment of Laura. Her original grievance temporarily shelved as securely as the picture she turned to ask.

"Where did you...wasn't that in ...?"

Having closed the door behind him as he didn't think that the sound of screeching would improve either the morale or his standing on the Grid, Harry moved to pull the window blinds, thus ensuring some privacy for the forthcoming conflict. Choosing to ignore the initial reason for their joint presence in the office he answered her stuttering question.

"I brought it back with me yesterday afternoon." The questioning gaze continued, forcing him to add, with a would be casual shrug, "I didn't want to leave it for strangers to gawp at."

She looked again more closely at the picture, Catherine holding her award lightly had been captured at a three quarter face angle looking outwards. By sheer chance Harry had placed the frame at an angle that meant she was smiling serenely down on the pair of them. Her daughter, their daughter; the reason Jane was currently standing here on the Grid planning to tongue lash Harry to flinders, about what precisely? She'd been so absorbed in a fury born of anxiety and frustration she'd scarcely given him an opportunity to explain himself.

Flinging herself onto the sofa she confronted him with her direct stare as she snapped, "So why couldn't I see what was on the stick? Don't try to tell me that it isn't important."

Harry wasn't certain how to respond to this. Did he sit beside her and try to comfort her, as one parent to another, or should he adopt his '_Chief of Spies'_ persona and retreat behind the defence of his desk. He wasn't even sure in which capacity he'd refused to let her watch the dramas being played out on the monitor. As Jane's current self appointed protector he had no intention of exposing her to images that would haunt her. As Head of Section D his very brief glance at the screen had sufficed to convince him that what he was viewing was potential political dynamite, and as such highly restricted. Time for some good old British compromise?

Leaning against the edge of his desk he answered stare for stare as he articulated a response that he hoped would pass muster.

"Yes Jane it is important. From what I glimpsed I now have an inkling as to why Catherine was being hunted."

"So why?" That Jane had ceased to shout was music to his ears, but her inflection was still accusatory

Harry sighed. "I might be wrong." Seeing her sceptical face he assured her, "It has been known. When I've had a chance to view it properly I promise I'll not be keeping you in the dark."

"So why can't I see it with you?"

Harry was tempted to adopt parent mode and reply, 'Because I say so." but reckoned making that statement to the stormy eyed woman seated opposite would have an effect akin to that of throwing petrol on a barbeque. Striving not to sound as though he was imposing a resented masculine authority onto her he finally gave her the honest answer, "Because the brief glance I had contained images that would qualify as a video nasty."

"For heaven's sake Harry, I'm already imagining goodness knows what happening to Catherine."

Finally she'd got his point, she just hadn't realised it yet. "Exactly, you are imagining; and horrific as those visions may be they are not reality. Trust me once more Jane, I've see grim and grisly for most of my working life, sometimes as the results of my own actions at that. The visual stays with you, it burns into your brain. Unless it can't be avoided I don't want that for you."

Jane wondered fleetingly if this was another example of Harry's manipulation, but little as she might like it she was forced to trust him, and, leaving the memories of their chequered past lodged firmly in that long ago country, had he actually done anything in the thirty six hours or so since she'd been literally catapulted back into his life to warrant such ongoing distrust. If he'd been lying to her then her detection skills had hit an all time low. Supposing that, just for once, she accepted what he said as the truth, what harm precisely would that do? More pertinently as he wasn't going to retract did she have an alternative?

She was about to voice her capitulation, in terms that implied only a partial surrender, she'd hate him to think that she'd degenerated into a pushover, when Malcolm knocked and entered. Greeks came bearing gifts; Malcolm came bearing, if she was to believe Harry, a nightmare inducing DVD. Malcolm handed it over to Harry saying helpfully, "I've taken extra copies of the memory stick as well. From the three minutes or so I saw it seems to contain hardcore violence so I killed it. I didn't think the public Grid was the most appropriate viewing area."

Any doubts Jane might have still be harbouring about Harry's current honesty were immediately dispelled by this speech. Despite the fact that Malcolm had voluntarily returned to this murky world of lies and deception his entire manner radiated an undeniable integrity, forcing her into the unwelcome admission that she was in the wrong. She was about to stand up, her equivalent of admitting defeat, when Harry, having taken possession of the disc enquired, "Malcolm have you seen Jason yet, about that hard drive?"

"He's just popped over to see me. His brother owns a computer business so Jason knows exactly what to do. I just wondered with developments..." His eyes strayed to the DVD as he said it.

"Thanks Malcolm but I think we can spare Jason and Laura for a few hours. Make them a legend – and..."

Jane the school ma'm was becoming extremely irritated with these unfinished sentences, a fact that was apparent in her impatient questions. "Harry what are you talking about? What else are you involving Laura in?"

Harry's unspoken reaction was to wonder how many more hours of his life would be spent justifying his actions and motivations to Jane. It reminded him of his regular screenings with the psychologist, appointments he only attended under the extreme duress of threat of immediate suspension, and then spent doing his vexatious best to wrong foot the interrogator. In this obdurate endeavour he was usually assisted by the relative inexperience of the unfortunate assigned to examine him. He'd rarely been assessed by the same shrink more than once. For some inexplicable reason the approximate date of Sir Harry Pearce's annual check up was the signal for a spike in leave applications, the department's personnel having suddenly fallen prey to an uncontrollable desire to luxuriate in the glorious sunshine that characterised an English February.

"Sorry Jane but I haven't had a chance to mention it. Malcolm wants the hard disk from Robin's computer so while he's away..."

Another incomplete sentence that she finished for him, "You're sending MI5 to play." Damn him; with all the trouble he was taking to solve her very personal problems shouting at him, however justified, would be churlish. "Very well, I presume it would help if I hand over my house keys? But why Laura?"

"Yes it would. And Laura because she already knows the layout and something of the neighbours." Harry, deciding that if Jane could be distracted into action she'd get off his back, suggested, "Any extra advice would be useful."

Jane wasn't fooled, "You mean give the little woman something to do and she'll shut up. Is that your game?"

Despite her deadly accuracy in dissecting his motive he wasn't about to capitulate. "Not exactly, as you pointed out in your... er... face time with darling Gawain you're above average height. More relevantly as it's your home you are the best person to advise. Can I also remind you that your report does need to be written up?"

Malcolm, observing this clash, was reminded of the question relating to the irresistible force versus the immovable object, with one minor difference. He couldn't be sure which of the pair was the force and which the object; let alone take a punt on the eventual victor. After a glaring contest that took only ten seconds but seemed, to Malcolm caught in the silent crossfire, more like a minute, finally, reluctantly Jane sighed, "Very well. I know when to be the meek submissive female." In revenge she ignored Harry as she extracted herself from the sofa, instructing Malcolm, "Lead me to a computer then."

Meek and submissive would not have been Harry's ideal words of choice in describing Jane, he'd have plumped for the antonyms of assertive and confident, but he wasn't planning to prolong the argument. He was more alarmed by her relatively painless and speedy compliance. From past experience he wouldn't put it beyond her to wait three minutes and then reappear. With that possibility in mind he moved silently to peek at her through an infinitesimal chink in the blinds, but no, she seemed to be settled and occupied. Once assured that she wasn't going to hop back into his office, yelling the Shakespearian version of 'Gotcha," he returned to his own chair and pushed the DVD into his computer. As the footage loaded up he prepared himself for what he already knew would be an unsavoury session of viewing by wondering if Jane, pushed beyond her tolerance limit, would voice her frustrations to his staff. If she did the chances were that she'd be the recipient of endless sympathy on the subject of coping with a grumpy Harry.

As spied by Harry, having returned into the less insulated space of the open plan Grid, Malcolm had logged Jane onto an unoccupied computer and clicked up the necessary form. Having absorbed the format Jane asked one question, "Do I fill this in as per office speak, for example, '_After a considerable discussion it was decided to reduce the number of scenes to be included, and to take account of the audience's cultural differences in term of the actual presentation of such_,' or do I forget my blushes and give a verbatim account?"

Before Malcolm could reply the irrepressible Calum, ears wagging and tongue at the ready, interrupted with, "Go for verbatim. Don't so selfish Jane, think of the light relief some poor sod will enjoy in the future when ploughing through our historic paperwork."

After he'd favoured Calum with a reproving look Malcolm responded judiciously. "Office speak I think." Relief flooded Jane's face, although the undeterred, unabashed Calum was heard to stage whisper "Spoilsport".

A few minutes later as Jane sat struggling with the form, '_How I describe my position in MI5? Arty Bullshit Monitor?_' she was surprised by a mug of tea suddenly materialising in front of her. Looking up she saw Malcolm who simply said, "It occurred to me that you might be thirsty."

Malcolm had previously decided that it was best if all bystanders stayed out of Harry and Jane's non marital disputes. Close friend of Harry he might be but Malcolm had long preferred to maintain a policy of deliberate ignorance relating to some aspects of Harry's life. An opinion reinforced by the unwitting damage he had inflicted on the burgeoning relationship between Harry and Ruth so many years ago. While Malcolm was still inclined to regard Jane's reappearance in Harry's orbit as something of a dubious blessing at best, he was forced to admit that any comparison with the disgraced Juliet Shaw and the fanatical murderous Elena veered in Jane's favour. Jane wasn't Ruth of course, but while she yielded nothing to Juliet in the waspish tongue department so far she'd appeared devoid of the self serving arrogance of the latter. Nor could Malcolm visualise the woman facing with him an uneasy expression cold bloodedly smirking while someone threatened to execute either of her children. Malcolm had not been an actual eye witness to the emotionally charged showdown in the Thames bunker, but he knew what had transpired, courtesy of a concerned Dimitri Levendis. In those subsequent hours, while Towers and the CIA where slugging out the fraught issues relating to Harry's extradition and house arrest, Dimitri, believing that Harry needed the support of an old friend, had deliberately risked his own career and broken the established protocols to contact Malcolm with the full story.

Taking courage Malcolm trod into the emotional minefield as he murmured, "I can only imagine how hard this is for you Jane, but from what I saw of the video Harry really was trying to protect you."

He'd half wondered if Jane would break out into a denunciation of Harry. Instead she just looked up emptily, acknowledging him with a sigh. "I know...it's well ... with everything..." unusually inarticulate she diverted into, "Can we just let that go for now while you tell me the legend you're giving Laura and Jason."

Moving into the more secure matter of fact territory, of which he was the unsurpassed master, Malcolm described his reasoning, "As I wasn't certain what your neighbours know about your family I thought son and daughter of the old friends you're staying with – arriving to pick up some extra clothes as you've been taken ill and obliged to stay a little longer."

Jane contemplated for a moment, "I'll give them a note. Robin will be away but Mabel might..." She suddenly recalled that Malcolm hadn't been around to hear Laura's report of the previous evening, "She's my neighbour and watches the house for me when we're both away. She might just catch them, but if they have a note she'll be okay with it."

Malcolm, not sure as to how much Jane knew he knew about the breakdown of her marriage, ventured an enquiry, "About last night's party, who'd clear up?" Jane, with a slight sardonic quirk, greeted this with a straightforward statement. "Malcolm I'm sure Harry's described the gory details of my current marriage in full so no need to tiptoe. Robin probably left any mess for me to deal with as my punishment. Why do you ask?"

Despite her exhortation to abandon an unnecessary tact Malcolm was remained wary as he answered carefully, "If the place has been left looking like a tip I could ask Jason to take a picture. Taken in conjunction with yesterday's message a court could construe that as unreasonable behaviour. You can't use on adultery on its own as you've been aware of his affair for over six months."

"Then ask Jason to do it. I don't know quite what Harry has in mind." This was a part invitation to Malcolm to enlighten her but she was disappointed by, "No more do I." Then more cheeringly, "But I have every confidence that it's Robin who'll come off worst. Can you do the note now and give me your keys. Then I'll send the pair of them on their way."

Harry meanwhile had finally watched the contents of the DVD in their entirety, relieved that he hadn't reopened the blinds. It wouldn't do to for his team to see him blenching and fighting down the impulse to vomit. Harry was the fortunate possessor of a strong stomach, one of the several unspecified but vital requirements for his post. He'd lived with violence, been subjected to it, through sheer necessity had resorted to it himself on occasions, but nothing had prepared him for the systematic callous depravity he'd just witnessed courtesy of his desktop. That certain parts of the mystery were now illuminated was of little consolation, when set alongside the continuing puzzle as to who had kidnapped his daughter. The thought that she may also have viewed the revolting contents previously secreted inside Mr Snuggles backside made him shudder anew. After a few deep calming breaths he picked up his phone to summon Calum and Malcolm into his citadel.

Having already glimpsed the horror movie neither man was surprised at his request, responding with the alacrity of individuals who'd been sitting on hold. Once through the door of the office even Calum was subdued by the expression on Harry's face, last seen on the day he'd returned to the Grid a nearly broken man. Harry gravely raked the pair with his eyes as he stated, "You've already seen some of this. Having watched it all I apologise for making you do likewise, but I need you to go into the lockdown rooms separately, view on your own and make your notes. You also need to pull this apart to see if it is genuine. Lives, and I'm not just referring to Catherine's, may depend on your conclusions."

"Come on Harry, give us a clue." That was Calum, of course.

"Sorry Calum but I need you to come to your own conclusions uninfluenced by me." Sensing the urgency in Harry's voice Malcolm in his usual quiet manner said, "Then we'd better get on with it."

From her squatters post on the Grid, trying to produce a report that converted that the differences of opinion with Gawain the Pretentious into a mildly academic and amiable exchange of views, Jane had noted the movement of Malcolm and Calum purposefully trooping across the Grid with Dimitri following close behind. More confusingly a few minutes later only the latter returned. In answer to Jane's puzzled face he grinned, "What I've wanted to do for ages, lock Calum up securely."

Erin overhearing enquired, "Any chance you can throw away the key?"

Seeing that Jane wasn't about to be distracted by their banter Erin decided she was owed an explanation, "Whatever is on that stick Harry needs to know that it's the real deal. We were all witnesses to its being untampered with after opening and to Malcolm remaining in full sight between the opening and burning of the content onto the DVDs. One has been sealed and locked away as a master copy, only to be opened when two officers are present. Malcolm and Calum now have to reach their individual conclusions to compare with Harry's, which they also seal. Harry will have made similar notes. As technical officers they must make an initial check that what they are watching has not been faked or altered to deceive."

Jane had automatically noted that in Erin's lecture Calum still took priority over Malcolm, but she let it pass in the light of the greater concern. While she understood the relief the team felt in having finally acquired some definite Intel, for Jane the very fact that it was so important was ominous. If Catherine hadn't been taken for a triviality, then she was probably in an acute and still unexplained peril. Before she could muse much further one of the junior officers passed Erin a note. Reading it Erin spoke to Dimitri, "The traffic department mole is here for questioning, shall we?"

Dimitri seemed to hesitate as he looked towards Jane. Realising the root of his worry she reassured him, "It's okay Dimitri, Queen Guide's honour I promise not to scour the Grid for state secrets. Go and do your job."

"Very well, what's his name ...Erin!" this last because Erin was spluttering in amusement. "Sorry D but he's called Ben Dover." While Dimitri joined her in laughing Jane commented more reflectively, "Some parents tend not to think, I once taught a girl called Theresa Green. Even worse though was one family who chose outlandish with deliberate intent."

Erin was sufficiently intrigued to stay the planned meeting. "Jane do tell."

"You have to understand that the mother thought Smith was a dull surname and wanted first names to make the children stand out from the crowd. As father was a First World War geek they called the three boys, Somme, Ypres and, Cambrai**."**

"Lucky then that they didn't have a daughter."

"Oh they did, she got landed with Passchendale Smith. Still she was fortunate, I suppose, that it wasn't the Boer War father was into." The puzzled faces plainly suggested that history wasn't the lovebirds strongest subject. "She could have got landed with Lady – you know Lady Smith."

A chortling Erin and Dimitri were still laughing as they disappeared into the pods, their previous differences seemingly forgotten, leaving Jane to wrestle with her report.

It took her about another ten minutes to translate the scatological exchanges of the morning into something that could be read out in public, giving her an intriguing hint as to the actuality underlying oft quoted official reports. As she hammered the keyboard she half expected a prowling Harry to come seeking her. Now that her initial anger had been damped down by tea and thinking time she realised that he'd been running true to protective type, excluding her to shield her. Well meant maybe, but accompanied by his utter failure to understand that for her, in the past, protective exclusion had been twinned with deception. An all in one package of Jane's personal sensitivities linked to a temper destruct button that he had inadvertently pressed**. **Having completed her task she risked a glance at his office, noticing that the blinds remained drawn with no ripple indicative of movement. As the mountain that was Harry wasn't moving in her direction Jane decided it was her turn to play supplicant. At the risk of looking either apologetic or needy she hauled herself up and, for the second time in an hour, headed for Harry's office.

Her entrance was greeted with a weary look and a plea, "Jane, if you've come to continue the argument, just don't."

If she had had any such intention it withered away instantaneously. She'd never seen him look so haggard. Under his furrowed brow his eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull. The deep worry lines that were carved into his features appeared to have aged him by at least ten years in the space of the past half hour. More frightening was the hint of hopeless supplication in his voice. Even at the very worst periods in their time together Harry's voice had carried a base note of either humour or anger. Now he sounded the way he looked, old and defeated. Jane wasn't sure how she should react. Harry the boss might be seated at this desk but for her Harry came in two guises, the warm, sensitive, mischievous man hiding a core of steel, and conversely the steely, impassive, grim faced spy concealing an overflowing heart. Over the years of shouted dialogue she'd never known which part of his personality was dominating at any given moment. She still didn't. What she did know however was that he would shy away from any expression of pity so she gently replied,

"I wasn't as it happens. I came to say that Laura and Jason have been dispatched, so thank you. Can't you tell me anything at all about what you've found out?"

"I prefer not to in case I'm wrong but..."

"You did say something earlier about not keeping me in the dark."

Reminded of this Harry was warring with himself. How much could he safely tell her? How much did he want to tell her? Was he being fair? And crucially did he want to break this to her in front of the rest of the team? Equal parents, equal worry, and he couldn't entirely protect her from the knowledge he'd just acquired, however much he might wish to do so.

The fixed haunted gaze from her eyes was sufficient to convince him. Accepting the inevitable he gave in.

"The memory stick contained videos of some of the most appalling torture I've ever witnessed in my life. If my guess about its provenance is accurate anyone who has ever handled it is in grave danger."

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**_Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment_. **


	28. Chapter 28

**_Thanks to those who read and even greater thanks to those who took the trouble to review. I'd also like to thank those who've stuck with the story which has become far longer than planned. One day it will end and I do know what that end will be - honest. _**

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_The Grid. Approx 3.30pm_

Harry's protective instincts had been spot on. As the implications of his words sank into Jane's brain the horror on his face flew across the space dividing them and imprinted itself onto her features. After a few seconds she managed to speak, her words faltering.

"The memory stick it ... it ...didn't show Catherine?"

Realising that shock may have led her into slightly misinterpreting his words, Harry hastened to give her what small reassurances he could manage.

"No, I think the stick was given to her by a contact, I'm hoping she didn't watch it." As he said it he made a mental note to check with Malcolm as to whether or not previous viewings could be detected.

Flipping back to the vague details the investigations of yesterday had yielded he added, "Remember what one of her colleagues told you, that she was working on something, but was cagey – I think I now know what it was."

"And you're not going to tell me, although she's my daughter too." The words sounded sharp, the inflection was resigned, so resigned that Harry didn't feel the need to reply.

The more Jane considered the situation the more agitated she became. Watching her gradually process the shock Harry understood. He'd experienced all too often the mental agony induced by helpless worry, allied with the desire to do something, anything positive, when forced into a helpless passivity by circumstance. Without her presence he'd have been wearing out the carpet as he paced back and forth, and not in a good way; his restraint due only to his overriding need to maintain a semblance of calm for the sake of Jane's sanity.

Everyone assumed that the toughest part of his job was making the difficult calls, it wasn't. What was much harder was living with the knowledge that he'd condemned those he valued to hideous deaths while he squatted, allegedly smug and secure, in his glass walled office isolated from reality. Lest he forget, lest he ever fell into the trap of regarding his minions as chess pieces to be wantonly discarded in the defence of the realm, he'd long been in the habit of making private visits to the Thames House memorial wall. He didn't need to do so, not when the names of each and every one of his lost officers were etched just as indelibly upon his memory as they were upon the weeping glass panel, an evergreen memento of every fateful decision forced upon him. His lonely viewing of the endlessly lengthening list was a small secret discipline, further burdened by the depressing thought that within a few short years, as the world moved on, the existence of those commemorated would be forgotten, their sacrifice blurred out by time. Since Ruth's death these occasional interludes had become a regular weekly pilgrimage. Her loss was the most recent, and for him the most personal**, **but the other deaths he honoured were just as poignant, and in their own individual ways equally tragic for those left behind. His cherished colleagues, a surrogate family for whom he was responsible, and whose demise sprang inescapably from his decrees; leaving him with an inheritance of emotionally numbing grief and guilt.

Having been in Jane's place times without number he knew that there was no antidote to what she was feeling. The only possible pacifier was action, not easy when they were both inextricably trapped in the confines of his office. Each of them nearly paralysed with worry. It was only when he noted Jane's eyes once more gazing at Catherine's photograph, as if willing her to materialise and step out of the frame, that an idea occurred to him, or more accurately he remembered a task he'd shelved at the same time as his daughter's photograph.

Nestling in the corner of his office lay the pile of papers and DVDs he'd also removed from Catherine's flat. In cases of this type everyone, victim and perpetrator alike, lost their right to privacy, as their entire lives were dissected in forensic detail. An unsavoury task which, if performed in the Garden of Eden, would have had Adam complaining that his human rights respecting the ownership of freshened up fig leaves where being infringed. A distasteful chore maybe, but necessary. Harry appreciated the reasoning behind this; he'd played a part in exposing many a hidden scandal, work undertaken with glee where his so called political masters were involved. Now, when it came to cold bloodedly trawling through his daughter's private life, he felt uncharacteristically squeamish. Still what had to be done, had to be done. How Jane would react to this was anyone's guess, but she'd already had a conceptual blooding when ringing around Catherine's friends and acquaintances.

His movement towards the pile of papers must have attracted Jane's attention away from contemplating her own worries.

"So what now Mr Section D? We just sit and wait?"

"Well we could, but it might be more productive if we studied this pile of scribblings."

With that he dumped a three inch deep pile of assorted paper oddments on his desk accompanied by the command.

"I need you to check them, see if anything you heard from her contacts links with this lot."

Jane eyed the tatty pile before enquiring sweetly, "And while I'm slaving away, you'll be?

"Rechecking them after you, from an intelligence perspective."

"MI5 variety I trust. If Catherine's safety depends upon your usual standard of emotional intelligence we're sunk."

Harry could have been offended, but recollecting of his frequent misreadings of Ruth, Juliet, Elena, and Jane herself, he recognised that her stinging words held an unpalatable truth. Just as disastrously he'd made no allowances; indeed had failed entirely to realise, that Jo Portman had become damaged to the point of possessing an unsuspected death wish, and then repeated the same tragic mistake with Ros Myers. He'd ignored Tom Quinn's evolving burn out; failed to comprehend the true depth Adam's grief stricken fragility when Fiona died – and if anyone should have recognised that Adams's ill advised couplings with unsuitable women sprang from a desire for an emotional anaesthesia it was himself – and he'd also completely misunderstood the effect of Zoe's trial and departure on Danny. It wasn't that he hadn't tried in his own bumbling way to protect them, he cared deeply about all his officers, but as Jane had just obliquely phrased it, he lacked empathy.

Jane watching the twinned expressions of hurt and regret sweep across his face sighed. For the second time in the afternoon a casual remark had solicited an unexpected reaction. This time was worse, for the sake of a not very smart quip she'd wounded Harry unintentionally. Two days ago upsetting him so badly would have made her rejoice; now she was wondering when exactly she'd turned into such a savagely ungrateful bitch. Much as she hated the idea she made haste with the apology.

"I'm sorry Harry, that was uncalled for and very unfair."

"It was also true."

"Of you, and about ninety nine point nine percent of all men. If you really didn't care I doubt that I'd be sitting here."

Hoping that this topic was now closed for both their sakes, she indulged herself in the masculine habit of turning the subject as she pointed her hand towards the papers still residing on his desk, making her reluctance to comply with his suggestion plain with the question, "Do we have to do this?"

Reading her meaning Harry answered the unspoken objection, "I hate invading her privacy as much as you do."

"And here I was thinking that was what you do habitually – phone taps, bugs, dustbin rummaging, honeytraps. Shouldn't the Section D motto read, '_Beware your dirty washing'_.

"When it's your own it feels somewhat different. But would you really prefer one of my officers to do this? Personally I'd rather we stuck to the motto of most of the criminals we investigate, '_Keep it in the family'_. That last word struck a sudden memory chord.

"That reminds me Jane, I'm really sorry but I haven't had a chance to mention it until now. While you were dealing with the delightful Gawain your equally delightful sister rang up."

Jane was utterly astounded as she mouthed, "Why?"

"She'd missed the pleasure of my conversation." Jane was glaring daggers, rightly accusing him of extreme sarcasm. "No, seriously she wanted to have a word with me as she was worried about you, especially when she'd had Robin mouthing off at her."

"Oh God."

"No Robin. He may think he's God, but the deity, if he exists, might disagree. Anyway Robin had been quite aggressive and threatening. Let's face it, rattling your battleaxe of a sister is quite an achievement. If it was anyone other than Robin I'd have been tempted to congratulate them. However as I don't like to see women threatened, and Rebecca just about comes under that heading, I've arranged protection for her and told her to ring if she has any further malarkey from Snuggle Bunny." As a reassuring addendum he polished this off with, "I didn't mention Robin's nickname to her or the existence of Smoochie Babe. It might make her interrogate James about his business trips and the poor bloke probably gets enough grief without my adding to it."

Ignoring the passing reference to her brother in law Jane had more pertinent queries, "Rebecca agreed! And why on earth did you do that? I seem to recall you once describing her as the woman who'd make Hell too hot for Satan"

"Oh we agreed about quite a lot actually." Jane shot him a rigidly sceptical glare that did not prevent him continuing in palpably faked hurt voice, "We both agreed that we loath one another, we both agreed that we want the best for you and we both agreed that you'd be better off without Robin. Obviously I didn't entirely agree with her assertion that you chose crap husbands. "

"Obviously." Jane was quite shocked, not so much by Harry helping Rebecca; on his performance over the past twenty four hours she wouldn't be overly surprised to discover that he was planning to refit the Briefing Room with a round table. What really amazed her was that Rebecca had accepted his offer in view of her extremely blunt comments over the years. '_Are you sure his surname doesn't_ _refer to the activities of his permanently rigid dick?'_ She did need to express her gratitude. "Thank you Harry, I know you feel responsible for me at present, but you're not obliged to extend that to Rebecca."

"It was no trouble, and I know how important she is to you. If I'm truly honest I envy you that."

"What envy me Rebecca!" Jane wondered if her ears had just failed her. It was bad enough that over the past couple of days her brain had softened to the point of trusting Harry, without her senses deciding to go awol to boot.

"God no." What a ghastly idea, as if the contents of the memory stick hadn't been enough for one day. He went on to enlighten her as to his seemingly certifiable statement.

"I stand by everything I've ever said about her. Up to and including that if her martyr of a husband murdered her I'd arrange for the bench of bishops to swear he was elsewhere. No, it's not Rebecca herself I envy you, but having a sibling you can rely on, the closeness of someone with a shared DNA and history. I'll admit to jealousy on that score."

Jane closed her eyes briefly. That Harry had so willingly exposed himself emotionally, a much harder task for him than physically stripping off, was a signal that he really was beginning to trust her. That revelation only topped up her earlier sense of shame. She'd become so enmeshed her earlier hatred of Harry she'd completely forgotten that post divorce his brother had been killed died in a freak accident. And she'd just accused him of lacking emotional intelligence! Only with his melancholy laden words had it dawned upon her that with Ben's premature death their children were Harry's only remaining family. So what else in his late fifties was he left with? Current evidence suggested his life principally revolved around a nightmare inducing job and a deep unspoken sorrow that was eating away at him with no real friends to confide in, other than the quietly spoken Malcolm.

When she opened her eyes again she saw that he was looking at her with a slight air of confusion. Whichever Harry was addressing her, the spy or the parent, he was plainly disquieted by so much self revelation. Wanting to ease him she smiled before stating, "If you don't mind I'll ring Rebecca tonight and try to set her mind at rest."

He nodded wordlessly as his eyes strayed away from her towards the task he'd been about to initiate. Recovering his equilibrium after his unplanned self exposure he adding innocently, "Has she got one?"

He avoided Jane's renewed glower by staring at the papers again. Jane following suit and glancing at the odd words scrawled on the uppermost was moved to query, "Surely this lot won't have anything important."

"Possibly not, but on one occasion when I visited her I noticed that she has your habit when she takes a phone call."

"Which is?"

"She scribbles down words that looked disconnected but are relevant to the message." Seeing Jane was still looking dubious he added with a mild impatience, "Come on, it must be worth a try."

Jane swallowed, typical spook to notice an engrained nervous habit, before nodding her head and then said, "Well you'd better sit beside me then" This was accompanied by an inviting pat of the vacant space on the sofa cushions. At his curious look her own exasperation began to surface.

"It'll be easier if we look at each piece together. Will you sit here if I promise faithfully not to bite you?"

Tempted as he was to reply _'Ah memories_" he knew that this would, given the current angst ridden circumstances, be inappropriate. While the suggestion that he join her on the sofa was motivated by practicality on her part, it was making him feel distinctly unsettled. Although Jane was undeniably middle aged, in terms of personal appearance she had also been fortunate enough to have staved off anno domini to a far greater degree than himself**. ** Crucially she was still sufficiently attractive to make him slightly apprehensive about the effects of too much prolonged close contact. Not willing to give voice to a truth that would be excruciatingly embarrassing for both of them Harry shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie, gently easing the collar he was getting hot under, as he aimed to convey an impression of casualness that was at direct variance with his true feelings. As he settled himself beside her it was with a heartfelt prayer that her earlier outspoken reflections respecting involuntary male physical reactions proved, on this occasion, to be incorrect.

Breathing in the slightly heady combination of his aftershave and smell that could only be described as masculine Jane, in her turn, suddenly became acutely aware of his sheer physical presence. Something about the comforting proximity of his solid body made her feel secure; as if nothing would harm her while he was near. A further confirmation, as if she needed one, that she was crazy. Not only was Harry was probably the least safe person she knew, they were also currently occupied in attempting to discover who had handed their daughter a stick depicting graphic torture. By his own admission the danger to all those associating with him was as real and present as his stocky figure currently jostling with her for space on the sofa. Did she have any other choice than to rely on him and hope? She answered that strictly rhetorical question by reaching out her hand to grab the first of the jottings passed to her by Harry.

Thus seated side by side, thigh by thigh, senses mutually heightened by a closeness that each of them feigned to ignore, they began to sift through the detritus of their daughter's random scrawling. Few made sense, odd initials, occasional words interspersed with casual doodles. It was like attempting to complete jigsaw without the benefit of a guiding picture and with no indication of the final shape. They didn't even know if the disconnected jottings even belonged to the main puzzle**.** Jane was beginning to wonder if this is wasn't simply a time wasting game, of the monotonous repetitious variety she saw teenagers playing on their ever present mobile phones, when her eyes finally lighted on a coherent phrase.

"'_Son of Dad's friend_?' followed by a name, '_Gene Seth Jardvec_.'

She read it twice through and then shoved it front of Harry's eyes with a forthright.

"Over to you. Who the hell is he?"

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**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a spare moment**


	29. Chapter 29

**_Once again thanks to those who read and even greater thanks to those who reviewed. The angst is rising._**

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_The Grid. Approx 3.00pm_

Harry's face was etched with a rich combination of shock and confusion. Confusion because he had never, to the best of his knowledge met anyone surnamed Vardec, shock because those seven small words had effectively spiked his growing belief that Catherine's disappearance was unrelated to his own activities. Mentally straining to rearrange his earlier theories he was conscious of the impatience radiating from Jane. If she wasn't neutralised in short order he'd be atomised in the ensuing explosion. His mind was still rifling through a lifetime index of names, enemies and friends, past and present, as he attempted to decontaminate her.

"You tell me and we'll both know."

"Harry!" That single word uttered chillingly contained an air of total disbelief.

"I'm serious. I've never heard the name before. I've absolutely no idea who this Gene's father is."

Jane re read the note carefully before batting back savagely. "And where exactly does it say that your friend was male?"

The underpinning inference was obvious, forcing Harry into amending his previous statement. "Then I'll repeat, I don't know anyone of that surname."

Jane's incredulity had shifted not a jot as he tried again, "I know exactly what you're thinking. I've never pretended to be a monk but I've always used a legend for any casual encounters, and as you are well aware anything more sustained is subject to a vetting which would have thrown up any alias."

He really could have done without these enforced references to his less than continent past. He didn't expect Jane to forgive and forget entirely, but that all his sincerely meant efforts of the last two days counted for less than nothing seared him more than he could ever have expected. His hurt made manifest in his next words. "I know some things you can't forget Jane but do you really think so little of me?"

Her eyes, glinting through the shutters of distrust wordlessly answered the question. Worry, anger, disappointment all jumbled into a toxic mix as his frustrations vented themselves in a furious outburst, "Jane, my infidelities during our marriage are a matter of record. Whatever bedroom activities I may have indulged in since our divorce are really none of your business. So why then would I need to avoid telling you the truth?"

Commonsense told Jane that Harry wasn't prevaricating. She wanted to believe him but previous experience was acting as a retardant. In times past she'd accepted his endless denials and excuses, only to discover that her trust had been betrayed. His protestations of innocence abandoned only when confronted with irrefutable evidence of his perfidy in the shape mysterious fingernail scratches scored into his back, or by her waving in his face the carelessly forgotten half empty packet of condoms that she'd unearthed from its furtive locale in a corner of his suitcase. Memories that still stung, particularly in relation to his fling with '_Smug Cow' _aka Juliet Shaw. Leopards and spots didn't change easily, and three decades of doubt couldn't be set aside so lightly. He read all these thoughts filtering across her face; if she'd punched his forehead with a stamp marked 'LIAR' she couldn't have made her sceptism more obvious.

When she failed to give any indication of softening her stance Harry finally snapped. "Thank you for believing that I'd prolong a lie with our daughter's life as the betting chip."

The hovering full blown row was finally ignited by Jane's outraged response. "Don't you dare take that tone to me, or have the gall to pretend that you've told me everything about your current life."

Harry's face, unusually for him, turned ashen as he was reduced to a stunned silence. For a couple of seconds he was rigid with shock until he registered that her comment was general, yelled in anger, not specific – she couldn't know about Ruth, could she? Recovering he spat back with, "How dare you even imply that I'm not doing my utmost to rescue Catherine from danger. So much for you trusting..."

His remaining words were staunched by a discreet cough from the doorway accompanied by a tentative rap. Dimitri was standing there, shuffling with all the usual discomfit of the bystander walking into an obvious row. Flushed faces in Dimitri's experience meant either amorous intent or vicious argument. He didn't fancy being an audience to either. His embarrassment was matched by that of the participants, both of whom clammed up in an instant.

"Sorry to interrupt but Malcolm and Calum have buzzed for release, they've completed the initial assessment."

Swallowing down his anger as he reached for his discarded jacket Harry, while deliberately ignoring Jane, instructed, "Very well, everyone in the Briefing Room, as quickly as possible." Dimitri didn't need telling twice, any port to avoid the storm of which he seemed to have provided the temporary eye. He departed on a duel mission. Priority: to gather the troops, secondary consideration: advise them come equipped with Intel and earplugs.

Still not looking at Jane Harry rearranged his clothing, his hopes of any rapport in tatters. A few short minutes ago he'd been concerned about the possible effect the closeness of her body might have on him, but had not wished to distance himself lest she mistakenly assumed he was rejecting her. Now, spurred on by an anger rooted in disappointment, he just wanted her out of his sight. Sitting there with her eyes flashing, her ears closed and her mouth ready to utter endless condemnations she was a living reminder of his folly in attempting to atone for his past sins through current actions.

Furious at being ignored but keen to explain Jane made a waspish attempt to apologise, "I'm sorry Harry but with our past history you can't blame me for thinking..." As apologies went it had the same effect as the words '_fat_', _fire'_ and _'throw_' although the response was less than warm. For a man with such a volcanic temper his glacier like tones were a shock, signalling a cold anger that would have had most of his subordinates scurrying for cover.

"Since you obviously can't trust me it has ceased to matter to me what you think."

With that he turned on his heel and walked briskly away, his exit marked by his closing of the office door with the hint of a slam. Left alone, shuddering with shock, not entirely attributable to her concerns over Catherine, Jane wondered what she should do. She didn't dare follow, he'd not invited her into the meeting and she didn't want to risk the humiliation of being ordered out. Sinking into the sofa with her head in her hands she contemplated the ruins of the relationship they'd been striving to repair. Pragmatically she'd probably just seen the promised help with her divorce walk out the door, practically, given that she had no current access to her bank account, she was dependent upon Harry for her bed and board. Surprisingly, she knew that these considerations weighed as minor, she could always fall back on her original plan re the divorce and contact Rebecca to rescue her from London, even at the price of enduring an endless diatribe of '_I could have told you so's'_. Unbelievably, incredibly, what was upsetting her most was the sudden withdrawal of Harry's caring friendship.

Stupid, stupid man, couldn't he see how upset and worried she was. Didn't he understand that her reaction was a reflex, a neural pathway conditioned to instant suspicion at the merest hint of him with other women. And stupid, stupid her, as if she hadn't known for years that Harry, while brilliant at invoking Eros, possessed all the skills of a Martian when it came to decoding any emotion more complicated than lust pure and simple, well simple if not exactly pure**. ** She'd actually said it aloud to his face about half an hour earlier. Then, in the sheer panic invoked by Catherine's notes, combined with Harry's claims of total ignorance, that knowledge had temporarily and fatally deserted her, leading to a dispute that now left her stranded, alone in his goldfish bowl of an office. Casting her eyes around she lighted on the generously filled whisky decanter balancing in tempting proximity to the desk. Harry obviously had no inhibitions about drinking at work. She supposed he needed some prop, something to numb the daily pain of living with his decisions, some sense of warmth in the midst of his loneliness. She considered the possibility of consuming the golden liquor. A temporary removal of his sole source of comfort. A revenge that would be drunke,n rather than sweet, for his unreasonable anger, with the added bonus of giving her a few hours of welcome oblivion. Harry would be furious of course - only the truly favoured got to share his expensive connoisseur approved malt - but what the hell, he already was. Her tentative hand stretching out to at least essay a hesitant sip – in truth she actually hated the taste of Harry's favourite tipple - was stayed only by a quiet knock on the door signalling the arrival of Malcolm.

"Jane we're waiting for you in the Briefing Room."

Normally pride would have prevented Jane from showing her feelings so obviously but, still shaken by Harry's reaction to her probably ill founded suspicions, she failed to raise her normal defensive shield saying in a voice that held the merest hint of a tremor.

"He doesn't need me there Malcolm, and he certainly doesn't want me."

Malcolm yielded little to Harry in the realm of the emotional inarticulate, and most definitely did not possess Harry's level of hands on experience with women. But having been delegated by a fuming, anger flushed Harry to collect the unsettled, shivering Jane even he was quite capable of divining that they had had a falling out that made the relationship between the FSB and CIA look positively cuddly.

"Jane, I don't know what you quarrelled about, but Harry certainly wouldn't have sent me here if he didn't want you."

Gathering herself upwards both physically and mentally Jane managed a wan smile.

"And Harry always gets what he wants." It was a question as much as a statement.

Despite the profession he was allied to, Malcolm was not a natural liar. He hesitated briefly. What Harry had wanted, what he had really, really wanted was Ruth and...and telling Jane that wouldn't help to resolve what he interpreted as a situation with a capital S. Avoiding her eyes he managed to temporise with, "In a work situation normally yes, he does."

Jane noted the measured reply. It confirmed her now entrenched suspicion, enhanced by Harry's nightmare the previous evening, that something, or some event, in Harry's personal life was cloaked in a mystery known to the team. A mystery moreover that they were conspiring to hide from the stranger in their midst. That in itself didn't surprise her. She knew him to be a man of secrets. None of her business he would claim. She disagreed. How could they achieve any degree of friendship when whatever was tormenting him kept throwing its shadowy cloak across their fumbling attempts at communication? For now though she decided to avail herself of the time honoured advice on what to do when stuck in a hole, relieved that for the moment her dishonourable discharge from the Grid appeared to be subject to a stay of execution.

As she followed Malcolm into the Briefing room, entering nervously through the door he politely held open for her, Harry looked over her head rather than at her, as he barked in frigid greeting, "Thank you for deigning to join us Jane. Now we're all finally assembled and before we move onto the more pressing and lengthy issue of the memory stick, I'd like to clear up any new Intel or theories surrounding the events at Catherine's flat."

The rest of the team were wondering whatcould have occurred to make Harry snap at Jane so coldly. In a cartoon he'd have been sitting below a thundercloud discharging flashes of lightening. Jane, ahead of them on that one, was curious as to why Harry,having staked his wholly believable claim to concern over their daughter, was postponing an immediate discussion relating to the key piece of evidence.

That puzzle was solved the instant she'd looked across at Calum. The Grid joker had vanished; masked behind a chalk white face fetchingly tinged with a sickly off green sheen that, as a veteran of various school excursions, she recognised as a proclamation that the owner had recently thrown up. For the sake of the cleaners she hoped Calum had managed to reach the Gents first. Mopping up vomit was a task that had invariably made her gag. While Harry hadn't exactly overwhelmed her with his domestic virtues, he'd proved much more adept at dealing with the shit and sick emanating from ill children than herself. A transferable skill from his dubious job, not exercised as often as she'd have wished due to said job calling him away to shot and, allegedly, shag in defence of the realm. Pulling her darkling thoughts back into the Briefing Room the motivation underlying Harry's current procrastination was clear. He wanted to give Calum, on whom the material viewed had obviously had a profound effect, recovery time before making him publicly discuss the horrors. It revealed an unexpected level of sensitivity towards his staff that made her recent accusations seem even more unjust.

Reflection was abandoned as Harry barked across the table, "Any news about the intruder we put into hospital last night?"

Amidst the deluge of other complications thumping onto their desks hourly this minor detail had slipped most minds. Fortunately Malcolm, the veteran of multi tasking, was ready with an update, "The officer we have on watch informs me that the gentleman has severe concussion and is judged not medically fit for interrogation at present."

Harry's face intimated that he could think of a few ways of ensuring that the not so hapless prisoner was helped towards a speedy recovery. His suggestions for alternative treatments, unlikely to be within the ethical scope of NHS delivery, were destined to remain a secret, their revelation prevented by Calum who marked his faltering return to normality by reminding them that,

"I thought we'd already concluded it was a black op spearheaded by the CIA. If they are behind it they must have some contact with the gang in Brixton who we know supplied the car watching the bombing, and collected Garside's unidentified and untraced replacement."

Dimitri, while not exactly objecting, had a quibble. "So in that case if they murdered the bloke with the laptop why was..." He paused for a second. "Do we have a name for the murdering murdee? And what information do we have about our friend in hospital? Calum you mentioned the police database earlier."

Malcolm behalf of the techies was ready with the Intel, "The man fished out of the Thames was called Dave Wilson. The gentleman caught yesterday evening has a couple of convictions for possession of drugs and seems to calim ownership of more legends that the Ancient Greeks. His real name appears to be Alan Payne."

Calum, on the road to recovery grinned, "Self fulfilling surname once Harry and Dimitri said hello."

A ripple of relief ran around the table. Calum the quipper was resurrected. Acknowledging this with a gentle quirk of the lips Dimitri returned to his original question, "What I was asking is this. If Wilson, who also had a record, was murdered to avoid trace why then was Payne sent into the flat when it was still being watched?"

A riddle indeed, even Erin's smooth brow began to show unwonted evidence of deep wrinkles. After a few moments Calum's cogitations resulted in yet another query.

"Harry, Garside didn't see you and Jane entering Catherine's flat did he?"

"No, what of it?"

"So Wilson was seen by the other policeman on duty, the one who wasn't killed. Even if the plod couldn't id him he'd have left DNA. As he had been convicted that meant he was traceable."

Erin saw a hole in his reasoning, "Yes but the same could be said for Payne, so what difference does that make?"

Hercules had his labours to vex him; Calum had his explanations to a dullard group.

"Payne only entered after the place had been checked out and from the unguarded rear entrance. If Harry and Dimitri hadn't happened to be there he'd not have been detected." As words hovered on the tip of Erin's tongue he answered her unspoken objection. "Okay he would have been - but he wasn't to know that the ordinary copper dozing outside the front door was Jason with an MI5 legend and an array of monitoring equipment. If all went according to plan Payne could have retrieved Mr Snuggles or anything else without us knowing**."**

As Calum paused for breath all eyes, including Jane's, finally rested on Harry as they waited for either affirmation or negation. Harry, having rubbed his face wearily as he considered, uttered a single command, "Continue."

Calum progressed to the next stage of his theory, ears alert for challenges. "Garside doesn't have a record, nor have we traced one for his watchman successor. Visible but clean skins, conveyed there by a gang headed by a ghost called O'Docherty." He halted for a breather, hoping that the others were finally following him. "O'Docherty is allegedly American**, **inhibiting our chances of tracing links on the UK databases while flagging up searches with the cousins, alerting them to conceal anything smelling of halibut."

Malcolm glanced at Harry as he said in support, "I'd agree. That links with the document on Garside's kindle."

Harry, having reviewed all the statements concurred. "Hired by the gang but reporting straight to the CIA. It's possible." Other than Harry everyone looked mystified. Malcolm speedily explained, "We found a contact number on the ereader that finally, after I'd done a little hacking, was tracked to the American Embassy."

"Don't be so modest mate, undetected hacking of the CIA is genius level work."

Under different circumstances Jane and Harry would both have laughed independently at the slight start the tremendously formal Malcolm gave when thus addressed. Amusement having been banished to the land of limbo Harry simply nodded to Calum to continue his exposition,

"Wilson and Payne have records but were supposed to avoid being seen. If picked up they are traced back to the gang in Brixton. The CIA, while lurking in the shadows at a remove of about three are pulling the strings. At least they're doing so in London. Their attempt to collect Jane was more open, but wouldn't have been detected if it hadn't been for Laura. As I understand it Jane is often away from home for short periods so the chances were that she'd not have been missed for a couple of days or so. Long enough to accomplish whatever purpose they had in mind."

While Jane was striving to fight down the feeling of sheer personal terror that Calum had just invoked, the assembled spooks began to sway their heads in vigorous agreement. Her fear subdued, the sight reminded Jane of a set of fairground nodding dogs. Despite the precarious position she was in, and her consequent vow to imitate a fly on the wall, she felt obliged to disturb this congratulatory basking with an irritating buzz of a reminder**.**

"It also wasn't very shadowy to plant a bomb and then watch me being blown to atoms. Or I could have been."

A still smarting Harry finally addressed her, "No one's claimed that they were efficient." The edge in his voice was inescapable, the hurt in Jane's eyes visible to all, as she shot back, "Fortunate for me then that you weren't in charge."

"You'd never have traced me. If I ever kill you it'll be by much more subtle methods.

Wounded and angry Jane fought on. "Well you've done your best to destroy me in other ways, so feel free to finish the job."

The rest of the team held their respective breaths. The endless Harry and Jane sparring they'd quickly become accustomed to, even found it mildly amusing, but this instant blazing hostility springing from two equally hot tempers was different and unsettling. Suddenly the centrally heated Grid had been plunged into an atmosphere of Arctic intensity**. **Reluctant witnesses, made deeply uncomfortable by their enforced viewing of an intensely private fight, they sat still and silent, mentally reacting in their own individual ways.

Erin was inwardly groaning, in the past she'd survived the terrible twos with Rosie at home, now she was confronted with the furious fifties at work, and was less than sanguine about her chances of escaping the fallout unscathed.

Dimitri, whose arrival on the Grid had preceded that of Erin and Calum, was wondering how much more of Harry's private public dealings with the women in his life he could cope with, while resolving to avoid similar public rows with Erin.

Calum now understood why Catherine had a history of walking blithely into war zones, they must be a cake walk compared to being caught up in the parental cross fire.

Malcolm was practicing a hitherto unknown form of geek Zen, mentally envisaging a new theorem of binary coding whereby one and one remained permanently separated by a big fat zero**.**

The two combatants having shouted one another into a thunderous silence were mutually aghast at being betrayed into publicly revealing such a flaring personal antagonism. Jane, beneath her disguising glare, was invested with an aura of distress and confusion. Harry's fury hardened stare was concealing the emotional contortions that were leaving him torn between wanting to reassure her that he hadn't really meant the cutting words spoken in anger and, conversely, wanting to walk around the table and shake the infuriating woman with the laser beam eyes for her sheer bloody intransigence in not believing the truth when she heard it. Masculine pride dictated that after her wilful refusal to accept his word it wasn't for him to act as supplicant. Knowledge of his ex-spouse informed him that it was highly unlikely that Jane would be prepared to admit she was at fault. Therein rested the nub, they were both equally stubborn and both equally disinclined to yield from an entrenched position for fear of seeming weak.

The unity of friendship that Harry the ex-husband and co-parent had wanted, that he still wanted, seemed increasingly unlikely. The barrier between them transcended the merely physical. If only he could talk to her sensibly and calmly, explain and insist that somehow they had to continue in their attempts to hurdle over their baggage strewn past, somehow force her listen not simply to his words but also to accept that he was no longer the feckless, self confident youth she'd married. But for now, in this room, with the fate of their daughter under discussion Harry the spook reigned.

He accepted the inevitability of this decision, forced upon him out of necessity, his relationship with Jane could go on hold; the invisible clock running on Catherine's life couldn't. Even worse he knew that he'd have made the same call, to shelve that vital conversation, had his daughter not been involved. How often had he done so with Ruth? Too often, but it was of such choices, agonising and destructive to anything that resembled his personal happiness, that his life had been composed. Now was not the time to change the habit of over three decades. Would it ever be?

Grid persona racked into place he began to sum up**. **"So in conclusion our working theory remains that the CIA is either using this gang, or set it up as a front for their very deep cover work. I'd opt for the latter as they had to move quickly once the bomb plot failed. The CIA gave the details of the two clean skins we caught watching the flat to the gang who act as the middlemen in hiring them. Presumably the Wilson and Payne were already gang members. Overall this makes the CIA damn near untraceable."

Malcolm have one challenge. "The dead man was professionally executed. According to the police reports that doesn't match the gang profile of petty theft and limited violence."

Dimitri pursed his lips for a moment and then suggested, "They may have been hired by the gang in the same way as Garside, a one off. If their names were then given to the CIA they may be responsible for the execution."

As the unhardened Grid newcomer Jane couldn't help herself, "Isn't that what we civilians call murder? Not that it matters to any family I suppose, dead is dead."

Harry gave himself a quick internal shake, such a statement, reflecting the abnormal morality of MI5 in which murder presented as normal and acceptable could have come from Ruth**. **Knowing the paralysing effect these memories had upon his concentration he pushed them back, rebuking Jane a little more gruffly than intended, "Let's not worry about the terminology, as you said dead is dead. Dimitri anything to add?"

Jane wondered which was worse, the continuing failure of Harry to respond to her, or the sympathic looks being flashed at her by Erin. Jane hated pity, in her opinion it was one of the few traits she and Harry had always shared**.** If he had decided to rewind to their relationship back to the state pertaining two days previously so be it, she'd cope without Miss MI5's patronage.

Dimitri noting her renewed glare made haste, anything to avoid another ringside seat in the ongoing, unedifying spectacle of the Harry and Jane showdown.

"Wilson had a drug habit, Payne has drug related convictions. Kill them both and leave evidence with Payne's body directing the police towards the local drug barons." He smirked slightly as he added, "We may have done Payne a favour by putting him into hospital."

Harry's frown implied that when he got his hands on Payne, this piece of luck might have been over stated. In the absence of Payne to confirm or refute Harry announced, "It sounds feasible, if this duo were ever traced back to the gang after the break ins or even ... '_in deference to your sensibilities Jane_' ... their murder the police are unlikely to believe a bunch of criminals shouting,' _It's not me guv'_ when caught red handed. For the CIA it was just their bad luck, and our good fortune that I had reasons for a covert approach and saw Garside. Who else would normally notice a regular exchange of blokes in bus shelters?"

Dimitri was pondering, "As they were hired quickly after the original bomb plot went wrong, clean skin or not I'd assume they were on the death list as well once their work was done. The CIA seems fairly desperate to avoid detection. It might be worth checking to see if an unidentified body matching the Garside's partner has turned up."

While Malcolm scribbled a note an unimpressed Erin, having registered Jane's blench, defended Jane's original objection, "What would be the point of that? Jane is right, the bomb was open, not covert. Anyone setting it must have known MI5 would get involved as a result."

Malcolm, while wondering if this was an example of the feminist sisters sticking together, was able to plug that gap in her reasoning. "Firstly in the original plot the CCTV was turned off and they didn't plan on a surviving eye witness. Secondly they'd have difficulty linking Catherine with Harry because I know how deeply he buried the family details from prying eyes. Also Catherine uses Jane's maiden name. Plus if they did try to trace her they'll not find a birth certificate for Catherine Townsend since she was registered as Pearce."

Jane nodded in confirmation, "That's correct and her birth certificate isn't the easiest to find as she was born in Cologne."

Erin wasn't to be deterred, "Yes, but having set a bomb they'd still have had to cope with MI5 crawling around."

Harry having digested all these suggestions supported Malcolm with a mildly impatient. "As far as they knew they were not bombing the flat of Catherine Townsend, daughter of the Head of Section D, but Catherine Townsend the documentary maker. I'd bet my shirt..."

"One of the few you have left after my borrowings of yesterday." Jane's interjection in the hope of restoring relations with a frowning Sir Harry Pearce onto a more even keel went for nought as Harry, oblivious to her verbal olive branch, continued onwards.

"In their place I would have prepared a faked Intel blaming it all on Muslim extremists incensed by Catherine's programme on forced marriage. Win win, the CIA get the memory stick blasted out of existence, and stir up anti Muslim feeling to justify what ever set of interventions Uncle Sam wants to drag this country into next."

Before everyone could sigh with relief at having found a logical solution to this part of the puzzle Harry punctured the self satisfaction with, "We have a one huge problem with this theory. Lack of concrete proof."

Malcolm and Calum exchanged glances before Calum said,

"When the police discovered our interest in this group the local plod contacted us to say they are planning a raid tonight. The Chief Constable is getting ratty about the clean up rate and needs to raise his profile with a crusade on gang crime."

A sharp indrawn breath of amazement greeted this announcement. Jane's confusion on this score was answered by a kindly explanation from the chivalrous Malcolm.

"The policeman who was killed was one of their colleagues and they heard on the grapevine that MI5 might help. Normally they don't cooperate but like us they look after their own. Seemingly they've had someone working under undercover with that gang for a couple of months."

There was an expectant hush. Heads twisted towards Harry as the team confidentially awaited the almost inevitable outburst. Harry's choleric views on help and cooperation with her Majesty's Constabulary were notorious, historically refused on the grounds that, _'I'm not relying on a group who signally failed to arrest Noddy for traffic offences.' _

Finally he uttered with a reluctant snort_, "_That grapevine needs pruning. We can't stop them so we'll gift them Batman. With his tattoos, he should fit nicely if they need extra help undercover. Inform them that we'll want access to any interviews and complete disclosure of all information received."

With this topic exhausted Harry turned to Erin. "Did you get anything from the traffic CCTV mole to confirm this?"

Erin bit her lip gently, "I must say he was very helpful, but his immediate reply makes the theory just advanced fall apart."

Two steps forward in discovering his daughter's fate, now confronted with at least one step backwards. A flick of his eyes towards Jane's flinty face confirmed that he'd forfeited any feelings of warmth and understanding from that quarter. With a degree of horror he realised that in the past couple of days he'd been using her reluctant companionship as a crutch. Having kicked it away in a moment of what he still thought of as justified anger he was once again condemned to suffer in emotional solitude. Everyone had a breaking point, his had loomed perilously near when Ruth died in his arms; the struggle not to founder then had been hard fought and barely won**.** Would a failure to recover Catherine alive, breathing, and uninjured mark his final defeat? Trying to subdue these realisations, which could only hinder progress, he asked the obvious question.

"Well who did he say he was working for?"

Erin avoided looking Harry in the eye as she answered. "Er how about MI5?"

* * *

_**Thanks for reading to the end. If you have an odd moment please review**_.


	30. Chapter 30

**_Thanks to those who read and greater thanks to those who reviewed. It's a year since I first began this story which has taken on a life of its own. I am very grateful to those who've stuck with it this far. I'm hoping it won't take another year to finish. _**

* * *

_The Grid. 4.30pm approx_

Erin's bombshell was greeted initially with a stunned silence, banished in short order by a piercing shriek from Jane, her reserves of patience finally drained. Forgetting any notions of etiquette and completely disregarding the presence of the team she bawled across the table at Harry,

"Just what the hell is going on here? Your people spying on our daughter! I thought you'd promised..."

Absorbed in her excellent impersonation of a banshee she entirely failed to register that Harry was also looking utterly astounded. Erin's announcement hadn't just set the cat among the pigeons; it had captured, skewered, cooked and served up them up in a pie, sourly garnished with theory on toast. While Jane's tongue was ungainfully occupied in venting her near hysterical anger Harry's mind was preoccupied, rifling through the various possibilities at a lightning speed.

Theory a) Several key figures in the service had made no attempt to hide their irritation at his reinstatement and still wanted him plucked from office. The Albany and Gavrik affairs had publicly demonstrated to the spying world that he was not invulnerable when those he loved were in danger. Had his daughter been captured in an internal blue on blue effort to make him crack? Had they provided the source information underlying the claim of the mysterious Gene Seth Vardec to know Catherine's father?

Theory b) Had another country's spies grabbed her, hoping that pressure upon his personal trigger points would force him into betraying a state secret once again, or trap him into committing an extraditable offence? Erin had suggested that possibility in their very first discussion. Had she been correct?

Theory c) Did MI5 harbour an operative turned by the CIA? That would leave the theory they'd just advanced intact, albeit with a slightly changed dynamic.

Jane's screaming finally penetrated his consciousness. Galvanised by yet another set of unjustified accusations and thrown off course by Erin's discovery he wasn't slow to follow suit, roaring back at her, "For the last time Jane, I've kept nothing back. If I knew what was bloody well going on I'd be off the Grid sorting it."

Thoroughly engrossed in the verbal mudslinging that characterised their private dispute, publicly played out, neither of them noticed that Erin and Dimitri were merrily creating a similar racket in another corner of the Briefing Room. It was only when Calum, in a raised voice enriched with his usual sarky tones, drawled laconically, "Which pair are you putting your money on to get laryngitis first Malcolm?" that a blessed ear relieving silence fell.

An unusually ruffled looking Dimitri was quick with an explanatory apology, "Sorry Harry but I was furious with Erin for misleading you." Observing Jane, her face ravaged and her breath coming in short gasps, he swiftly amended that to, "the pair of you."

Harry's eyes swivelled instantly towards Erin, who although not timorous by nature, spies couldn't afford the luxury of nerves, was cowering under the gaze of the entire team, plus Jane. For the second time today she'd invoked the legendary Pearce wrath. Most of those unfortunate to do so were lucky to survive a single blasting, two offences was definitely pushing it. An attempt to meet those hard hazel eyes informed her that despite the additional inches afforded by her designer heeled footwear she was ankle deep in manure.

Fortunately for Erin's immediate survival Jane had graciously decided that in this instance she really did owe Harry an apology. Her whispered, "Sorry Harry, it's just that worry got the better of me**." **effectively deflecting his immediate attention away from the quaking Section Chief**. **

The sound was music to his ears: that of Verdi of course, not Wagner who featured prominently on the Pearce '_Culturally_ _Averse' _index. Harry had never joined the fanclub of that particular composer. Quite apart from the musician's Anti Semitism Harry didn't fancy being bracketed with such dubious '_Ring_ _Cycle' _groupies as Hitler and the odiously superior Jules Sivitir. Jane's expression of regret, while introducing a welcome note of harmony, had not earned her a total forgiveness. The previous insulting suspicions still rankled, meaning that Harry chose to lightly acknowledge her words with a brief nod before turning back to the erring Erin**. **Even without Jane's _mea culpa_ he'd have been furious that she'd been upset so badly and, judging by Dimitri's words, so unnecessarily.

In a voice that brooked no nonsense Harry snapped his order, "Erin, explain accurately. Need I remind you that my daughter's life is at stake? I'd expected better from you given that you are a parent yourself."

Erin's sketchy attempt at an apology was cack handed by anyone's standards. "Sorry Harry, but Jane began to shout before..." She got no further. Despite Harry's recent lack of cordiality towards his ex-wife Jane was not fair game. If Erin thought she could shuffle off her own errors by trying to attribute the blame elsewhere she'd made another catastrophic misjudgement. In a voice whose deliberate quiet presaged another interesting interview later in his office Harry sliced through her sentence.

"Cease. Dimitri you were present at the interview. Kindly elucidate. At once."

When Harry spoke in that tone the wise leapt to it. Knowing that if Harry was ever secreted behind Team GB's high jumping squad a gold medal would be in the bag Dimitri hurried to oblige his boss. He fully realised that upsetting Jane was a privilege that Harry had reserved unto himself. Understandable, he felt exactly the same way about Erin, even if she had just put herself in the frame for the '_Idiot of the Day'_ award.

"Ben Dover." Stumbling over this absurd nomenclature, he halted to make a plea. "Can I just call him Ben from now on?"

"Please do." The semi snarl belied the ostensible politeness, making Dimitri translate the two words as, "_Get on with it NOW_."

Needing to draw some fire away from Erin Dimtri resumed, hoping that Harry would endorse their unauthorised actions.

"Ben said he was approached by two men, one claimed to belong to Special Branch, the other to MI5. He was told that they suspected terrorists lived in the area of Catherine's flats and they planned to conduct a raid under cover when the CCTV was switched off. However as those dates were on a variable rolling programme they needed confirmation on the day from an inside source. As he'd be working for MI5 a one off fee was payable."

Harry's restrained comment of, "Didn't the idiot realise that we could get that information elsewhere?" was challenged by Erin. An act of bravery considering that that her most sensible course would have been to crawl under the table and stay there for the duration of the meeting.

"That's a bit harsh Harry. We can't except civilians to know how we work. Seemingly he was told that they suspected a mole in the Service hence the need to check the information they'd been given from an alternative source. He claims that he did ask for proof of id and phoned the number they gave him for confirmation. How was he to know they had a mate on the other end?—And they came equipped with a copy of the Official Secrets Act that they insisted he sign."

Dimitri piled in afresh to support her defence, "We've been known to make one off payments. He really was aghast to discover his error."

Oh God, Romeo and Juliet had just been reincarnated on the Grid. Harry felt a tidal wave of jealously. If only he and Ruth could have been so open. Instead like Shakespeare's lovers they had always been private, diffident, even covert. Unlike Shakespeare's suicidally inclined teenagers they'd been condemned by circumstance to celibacy. Their mutual support and love shown in the occasional touch of the hand, the soothing phrase, in the veiled glances that spoke the words their tongues could not essay. A love openly admitted only in those despairing frantic minutes as he watched Ruth's lifeblood ebb away, seeping into that muddy grass bank by the Thames. Even now, enclosed in the windowless Briefing Room, he could still recall the brush of the gentle uncaring breeze across his face, its coolness a contrast to the warm blood smeared over his hands as he tried vainly to staunch the flow. The quiet ripples of the river making its sluggish way to the coast echoed through his mind, an accompaniment to the uncaring, mocking cry of the wheeling seabirds and the distant throbbing motor of the helicopter that would arrive too late to salvage their dreams. Ruth was dead. His heart alive only in the sense that it was still beating.

Harry's temporary reverie was abruptly disturbed by Malcolm throwing his mite into the debate.

"I've had a report from the financial trawl. They've traced the money through several accounts, terminating with one that seems to service various American firms, some of which are on our radar for no good reason. Ben..." Malcolm also baulked at adding the surname, "seems to have spent the money on providing care for his grandmother who has Alzheimer's."

Malcolm's voice carried an edging of sadness. Jane temporarily distracted from her own troubles recalled Harry mentioning that Malcolm was recently bereaved. What had he gone through? She must ask Harry before she unknowingly said something hurtful. The she remembered that could be tricky when they were scarcely on speaking terms. While she was speculating Dimitri continued to describe the fate of Mr Dover.

"Due to the Rambo kill order that Erin obtained we've sent him to a safe house. If the CIA suspect we've traced him..." Catching Harry's glare of disapproval he ended lamely with, "Well we've already had one murder."

Having glowered at Dimitri's casual reference to a piece of Intel Jane had yet to be advised of Harry leant back in his chair, awaiting the inevitable. Jane did not disappoint. Alert to any proof that Harry was not to be trusted she fastened instantly onto the first part of Dimitri's speech with a sharply spoken, "Something else you forgot to tell me about!"

A nervous hush descended. Harry, after inhaling deeply, groaned, "Yes and sorry. I'll add that we had the lip reader in as well. So can we get the shouting over with now?" The flash from her eyes making him state, "We made these discoveries while you and Dimitri were wiping the floor with Gawain."

Jane debated the possibility of doing likewise with Harry but was once again defeated by a natural fair mindness. Other than their disastrous tete a tete in his office, when he'd been consumed by worry over the wretched memory stick, he hadn't really had a private opportunity to update her. She considered for a moment before saying, "Thanks. I'll accept that, as I assume all is about to be revealed."

"Not unless Harry changes his mind about allowing you to see the film show." Calum murmured this so quietly only Erin overheard. Harry, whose hearing was normally excellent, was still reeling with relief at the news that Jane had passed up the opportunity to indulge in more noisy recrimination in full view of his staff. He had no chance to respond to her as Erin, after hushing Calum, and anxious to retrieve herself chipped in,

"I know we have to run a check but assuming that Ben is telling us the truth we've arranged for a cover story to explain his absence. If the CIA still think he thinks he's working for MI5 they may keep him on as an asset, so we can use him as our asset without them knowing. Someone in the traffic department could be useful."

Jane's head couldn't have spun more if she'd obeyed her earlier impulse to glug down Harry's whisky. What amazed her; stunned her in fact,was the unblinking acceptance of such convoluted thinking. Harry pursed his lips before replying,

"I'll consider it once we have proof that he has been played by the CIA. Until then I'm not discounting the possibility of a mole in the security service. I assume approaching an outsider would be one way of avoiding electronic detection."

This last statement wasn't exactly a plea but Calum and Malcolm both exchanged glances while Dimitri fumbled in his jeans pocket. The entire attention of the table turned towards him as he finished shuffling and extracted a mobile phone with the words, "This belongs to Ben. He made his call from it so we took it off him. Can you trace anything from this?"

Calum reached his hand out smirking. "Do ducks swim? Is the Pope a Catholic? Do politicians lie? Okay pass on that last one."

The interlude had given Harry a brief interlude of thinking time. Matching his various theories against the information provided by his team he expressed his revised opinion.

"Before Erin made her announcement we were certain the CIA was behind the bombing. A mole in MI5 would not automatically discount that theory. It wouldn't be the first time someone had been turned. If Ben was approached by a mole I'll just have to hope that it's not anyone in Section D."

Jane wasn't sure which shocked her more, the matter of fact way in which Harry mentioned this, or the lack of any protest from the team forcing her to blurt out, "Surely no one..."

"Unfortunately Harry is right. We have had people turned in Section D. Members of the Senior team at that. One even managed to frame Harry, and very nearly succeeded."

As Malcolm spoke a telepathic memory of long distant pain passed between himself and Harry. Connie James was a name rarely spoken, but frequently remembered. Her epitaph: the woman who'd left a lingering legacy of doubt when it came to trusting even their closest of colleagues. Malcolm, sickened by her treachery and then worn out by the immediate aftermath, had finally discovered in himself a sudden longing for retirement. Harry had remained in post. His stalwart determination not to allow the bitter taste of betrayal to destroy that precious need to trust had resulted in his protecting Lucas North - he never could think of him as John Bateman - well beyond the boundaries dictated by sense and protocol. A spectacular misjudgement, setting in train the events that had resulted in a second accusation of treason. Nothing said, but much understood between these two emotionally buttoned down individuals, the grizzled survivors of Section D.

The present remained to be dealt with, as Harry summarily made plain with his next words, "Malcolm send some pictures of known CIA agents and assets to the guarding officer, see if Ben Dover can identify them. If he can't then follow up with pictures of MI5 agents who fit his description, plus a random assortment of photos. Again see if he recognises anyone."

"And do give this operation the code name Backwards."

Those last words had floated over from Calum's corner. Before anyone could take him to task for his misplaced levity Harry, keen to advance towards the kernel of the discussion, announced in a statement that instantly removed the smile from Calum's face.

"Now for the matter of the memory stick."

Restored to full operational mode, Harry, the father and ex-husband... friend... opponent...whatever... of the still simmering Jane surveyed his troops, wondering whose opinion to canvas first. Not Erin or Dimitri; neither was privy to the full contents of the stick. Calum; jokes set aside was swallowing, fighting down a resurgence of the bile that had threatened to overcome him previously. Malcolm remained his usual calm, static self, a quality that the notoriously hot tempered Harry had long envied him. No contest then, the choice was obvious.

"Malcolm your assessment of the contents please?"

Malcolm acknowledged this order, disguised as a request, by extracting a sheet of paper from his sheaf of notes saying, "I'll give my views and then Calum can add anything he thinks necessary." A declaration greeted by a look of deepest gratitude from his fellow techie.

"The stick contains twenty nine minutes and thirty two seconds of film. To be even more precise that time is divided between a number of separately filmed scenes or incidents, timings and other details in my notes. From the length and camera angles they would appear to have been captured surreptitiously on a mobile phone and then later spliced together and saved onto the stick. The content also includes a number of still photographs, again, judging by their appearance, taken covertly. I've not yet managed to confirm whether they are stills from the films or odd shots from other separate incidents."

"Genuine or fake Malcolm?"

"I'd need to do a more in depth analysis frame by frame to double check. From what I was able to do at this stage I would say genuine. That was what my initial assessment and recommendations suggest."

"And you Calum?" Harry turned to the younger man.

"Agreed on grounds both technical and dramatic. I really can't see how most of that could be faked." Calum's voice was even, but his slight shudder indicated that the emotional rawness lingered.

Malcolm felt obliged to urge a mild caution based on his final pre-retirement Grid operation. "It is possible though. We were once nearly taken in by a video of Harry being shot. It was only the fact that they didn't actually show the bullet entering his body that made us continue checking." Looking over at Harry he voiced a long overdue confession, "I'm ashamed to admit that I was deceived. It was Ros Myers who insisted that we entertained the possibility that it was a fake."

Admittance of this embarrassingly rare instance of fallibility produced a resigned response from Harry. "Water under the bridge Malcolm. I've seen the tape. The first part made it clear that I expected to be killed and the sight of me comatose with my head lying in a lake of blood was utterly convincing. I'd have made the same call."

The revelations of the last five minutes were making Jane gulp. While appreciating that Harry's job was dangerous she had assumed, naively it would seem, that he could at least rely on his colleagues and subordinates to guard his back. Instead it was becoming apparent that the military concept of a Band of Brothers had not extended itself across the threshold of the impressively appointed Thames House foyer. That he'd managed to remain sane and functioning in the midst of this whirling maelstrom of uncertainty was verification of his tough mindness. Marvelling afresh at his relative sanity she now understood that his words of the previous day, that it was having family to come back to, that he had a sense of something normal to make him fight, had not been an empty phrase, uttered simply to appease her. For once he'd been starkly truthful. So what then had been his anchor during those empty post divorce years? And what did he have to cling to now? Judging by last night's nightmare nothing at all.

Harry, with or without anything to anchor his life, was eyeing Calum thoughtfully. The key to much that was perplexing them obviously lay in the now unsealed contents of the memory stick, the details of which had to be debated. Preferably without the contents of Calum's guts revealing themselves.

Harry opened with, "For the benefit of those who've not seen the memory stick contents in their entirety."

Jane interjected, "Or at all" wishing she hadn't when Calum recovered enough to say in a voice thick with envy, "Lucky woman."

Harry, adept at ignoring these distractions when he chose, continued, "The clips show instances of some utterly revolting torture. I have no option other than to ask Malcolm and Calum to work on it, but I'm hoping that no one else in the section will be obliged to view it. I've been forced to sit through similar videos before. This is easily the worst I've ever had to witness. I will mention the words, electrodes, genitals, buggery, anal rape, water boarding and shit smearing. The only relief from my unreconstructed non PC standpoint is that no women seemed to be involved."

The three individuals fortunate enough not to have had these graphic images forcibly imprinted on their retinas turned their sympathic gaze upon Calum. Calum while grateful felt, despite Harry's statement, that he'd been weighed in the balance and found wanting. In his anxiety he felt compelled to explain the true cause of his shock.

"To be honest while the events were ghastly what really made me want to vomit was the pleasure those troops were taking in their actions. That wasn't emergency torture of one or two individuals with the aim of extracting vital information to save lives. It was systematic brutality for sheer perverted enjoyment. Those poor devils..." His words tailed away.

The listeners were stunned. They were so accustomed to Calum's habitual flippancy that his total seriousness with no hint of humour rendered his words nearly as disquieting as the outrages he was describing.

Malcolm's sympathy for his colleague slightly overcame his sense of discretion as he endorsed the viewpoint. "Indeed, the perpetrators made Charles Grady look like an amateur."

Harry's wry response, "Agreed and I never thought I'd say that." added to what was rapidly becoming Jane's default mindset of total puzzlement. Seeing her perplexed expression Harry offered her a part explanation, "When I was framed it became necessary to extract a confession from me so..."

Appalled by these revelations an indignant Jane completely forgot, for an instant, her own squabbles with Harry.

"God, are you seriously telling me that you were tortured by your own side! If you were a stick of rock you'd have _'Regnum Defende'_ stamped through your core. How could anyone even begin to think that you'd ever turn traitor?"

Only she and Harry could truly appreciate the irony of that charge. During their marriage the majority of Jane's grievances had been attributable to the various revolting deeds Harry had undertaken as proof of his devotion to 'Her Most Gracious Majesty', while simultaneously neglecting 'His Most Ungracious Spouse'. Had Jane not been so caught up in her doughty endorsement of Harry's integrity she would have noticed the expressions on the faces of the team, all of whom were recalling the Albany enquiry that still cast its overlong shadows in certain quarters, most notably in the unattributed, sibilant whispers that the great, impassive Harry Pearce was now considered flaky. Harry himself, although touched by her not wholly accurate defence, shrugged off her words with, "As we said it has been known. It is right that no one is above suspicion."

Jane may have remained unconvinced but Harry was anxious to move onto a more relevant issue. Loath as he was to extend Calum's suffering questions remained. " Malcolm, Calum, you mentioned troops. Can you confirm the uniform and the nationalities of all those featured, including the prisoners? "

The pair stared at one another before Calum, now somewhat restored, gave his assessment. "Uniforms, not always in evidence but what I could identify seemed to belong to our favourite cousins. We'll try to make some stills and analyse badges etc. The question of location remains to be answered. Namely as to whether what we saw took place in several spots in one location or alternatively in several separate bases. Prisoners, I'm not sure about identification. Malcolm is probably better at picking out the languages the detainees were screaming in than I am."

Thus appealed to Malcolm responded. "I need to do some sound separation to verify but I'd say mixed nationalities, mainly men of Asian descent but one or two looked European. Again we need to have some stills to analyse. I'll try to get something from freeze frames in terms of faces from both the troops and prisoners. A run through facial recognition might give a more specific lead. Places, I'd agree with Calum. It's difficult to be more exact. In one still the victim was pegged out in beating sunlight which implies the locations are largely desert areas."

"And probably distant and deserted." Harry looked directly at Malcolm for corroboration**,** "Thank you Malcolm and Calum. You've confirmed my suspicions."

From the faces turned towards him Harry realised everyone present was too intimidated to venture a theory through fear of being rebuked for exaggerated stupidity. Hoping he sounded calmer than he felt, unusually his stomach was performing contortions that could have matched Calum's, Harry took the verbal floor.

"Assuming that what we've been discussing is genuine, and the effort going into covert retrieval suggests that it is, I think the mystery as to why the CIA are desperate to get their hands on that memory stick is now obvious. That reason further explains why Catherine had it in her possession, and how she came by it."

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**Thanks for reading. If you have an odd moment please review.**


	31. Chapter 31

**_Many thanks to all who read and those who reviewed. We progress - possibly_**

* * *

_The Grid 5.00pm approx_

First Erin, now Harry uttering a heart stopping announcement. Was it always this way, Jane wondered. She knew spies weren't turfed out raw into the world to met death and danger, they did receive some training. While she had only the vaguest outline as what that consisted of, until today she'd never even contemplated the notion that these dark arts included instruction from RADA. For that matter how did they know they'd made the grade? Were the successful trainees bidden to a deeply secret graduation ceremony held in the bowels of Thames House where they were presented with scrolls scribed in invisible ink? '_Outstanding_ _student of the year Henry James Pearce, with distinction in deception, disguising, and honey trapping.'_

The immediate sense of drama began to recede in the wake of a thickening, lengthening silence during which no one was bold enough request an explanation from Harry. Viewed dispassionately Jane could understand why. Harry was more inclined to make demands than accede to them. The ruination of their marriage was testimony to that. So who was going to be brave and summarily insist that he explained what he had dredged from that swirling vortex of endless changing information.

Surveying the team Harry must have been afflicted with a similar realisation. Avoiding the necessity of anyone rising to the challenge he declared, "I'll explain my thoughts in a few minutes, but first the updating, as I seem to be the only person to have knowledge of every piece of fresh Intel." The flare of irritation in Jane's face forcing him to add, "without this information my theory will make very little sense."

By now, having partaken in previous Briefing Room meanderings through the interminable thickets of contradiction and obfuscation, a thoroughly blooded Jane judged Harry's assessment to be a mite optimistic. In consequence of which she rather doubted his solution, however watertight in its details, would be accepted without question. If asked she would have opined that had Archimedes foolishly announced his game changing discovery on the Grid the subsequent debate would have provided him with ample time to dry and dress himself before being driven in a fit of intelluctual frustration into running along the Thames Embankment yelling Eureka. Oblivious to Jane's cynicism Harry had turned towards the Grid champion of precision and précis. "Malcolm can you describe the kill order and Monica's suggestions?"

With a quick glance at his notes Malcolm obliged, "Erin managed to obtain a message from the CIA contact. When decoded it said ''_Operation Rambo. Close down. Kill order confirmed.' _Monica, that's the lip reader, was uncertain but thought the man who met Catherine in the cafe was saying something along the lines of '_they are after me_', followed by..." – Malcolm made a quick pause to recheck his handwriting, '_however secure they'll find it_.' When Catherine, after the argument we'd all witnessed on the CCTV, didn't give in he walked away muttering, '_She won't listen_.' The other man, the one she was last seen with as she got into his car said, '_You need a lift_." and, '_best not to meet on your own."_

Before he or anyone else could speculate further Jane, who'd been listening attentively, asked on everyone's behalf, "So how does this fit in with the memory stick?"

Harry proceeded towards enlightening one and all. "We now know what the CIA wanted to keep secret. My presumption would be that whoever videoed these events was appalled and didn't want to be a party to them. It seems highly unlikely, given the secretive circumstances, that he was an accredited UN observer."

For the second time in an hour Harry had made a gender assumption that was subject to an instant challenge, this time from Erin. "Why he?"

"As I stated earlier, that camp or camps would appear, thank God, to be a women free zone." Reminded of the contents of the stick Erin abandoned the feminist case for total equality in all things,allowing him an uninterrupted wallow in his misogynist thought pool, "I think therefore that it was a trooper who..."

The light bulb moment had arrived, its illumination sparking in the heads Dimitri and Calum; who might have been twinned as they gloried in cogitation, "The bloke with Catherine in the cafe you guessed he was..."

"Military. Quite. Something clicked in my mind when we decoded the Rambo message but didn't quite connect. I'd suggest he passed the stick to Catherine. Somehow the CIA, having discovered that he'd gone rogue, AWOL perhaps, traced him to her. If Monica was correct that explains the conversation in the cafe. He was trying to retrieve the stick before Catherine was hurt and she was refusing. If she knew the CIA were involved she would suspect that her phone and email might be tapped, hence the snail mail postcard to Jane as a precaution."

As a construct it was logical, linking a number of jigsaw pieces into a coherent pattern, but Erin, fulfilling Jane's private prophecy, had to protest, "Why did Catherine come into it at all? Why go to her rather than the press or the British security services?"

Malcolm, with the force of history to draw upon, could readily answer that last question, "In his place I wouldn't approach the security services either. Far too many of our colleagues connive at, or alternatively turn a blind eye to rendition."

"Yes but..." Erin was about to repeat herself when Dimitri intervened, his demeanour carrying a slight air of exasperation. "Erin, if you wanted to get something into the public domain and suspected that Six and Five were hand in glove with the CIA who would you go to? The press with the current cosy cartell bewteen the owners and the politicians or would you..." he halted to query, "Didn't you see Catherine's documentary on forced marriage?"

Erin wasn't relishing the implied criticism. "No. I was on an operation at the time."

"Thought not. Well if I wanted to get something out there I'd consider contacting a documentary maker with a reputation for truth telling and to hell with the cost."

While Erin digested this admonishment, her grimace suggesting that she'd be overdosing on stomach medicine later in the evening, Harry and Jane were experiencing a mutual swelling of pride, intermingled with fury that their daughter was so reckless, neither of them wanting to admit responsibility for her impetuous behaviour. Fortunately for the sanity, not to mention the eardrums, of the team, the impending parental argument as to just whose chromosomes had gifted Catherine with her stubborn, driven approach to life, was derailed by another of Erin persistent, tiresome objections. "So why didn't she just go to Harry, surely she'd know that he'd never countenance..."

Harry was beginning to feel pressured by disparagement. After several sessions in which the team had groped for answers he'd have appreciated some credit for finally penetrating and dissolving the veil of mystery shrouding the actions of the CIA. A few short months ago he would have insisted that his view must prevail forthwith, but after his spectacular misjudgements over Albany, Lucas and Elena his long standing reputation for near infallibility had been badly dented, as in severely trashed. That was the lesser disaster. Blinded by trust in Elena he'd been played with fatal results for Tariq, Jim Coaver and Ruth. He knew it, they knew it. Harry was a realist, if he required the team's help then he had to swallow the price tag and graciously accept some element of collaborative discussion, aka argument. He'd allow them to consider the alternatives, just as long as they affirmed his final opinion, aka decision. He needed them with him. Catherine's life might depend upon it.

Jane, as the parent who was closest to their daughter, although she'd stoutly contend that the actions of said daughter were more atuned to her father's nature, came to Harry's rescue, saying with some asperity,

"There is another possibility. That it was the other way around and she contacted him." The facial reactions of the team, unaccompanied by speech, ranged from bemusement, through scepticism, docking at disbelief. Cutting through the silent swathes of doubt she advanced her theory, emboldened by the thought that it was no more improbable than other suggestions flung across the table. "It's just a thought but one of Catherine's friends said she had an idea for a new documentary. If she was putting out feelers and this man had the information, well work it out for yourselves. She wouldn't go to Harry as she wants to be independent, be recognised as Catherine Townsend, not the daughter of Harry Pearce."

Harry's nearly imperceptible wince was missed by everyone with the exception of Jane. Immediately hypersensitive to his reactions and recalling certain passages in the past, which she had regretfully encouraged, Jane could have bitten her tongue when realisation dawned as to how that statement would appear to the uninitiated. Trying to make amends she apologised, "...sorry Harry I didn't mean..."

"Sadly it's the truth. She refused to own me for years." The casual tone smoothed over the lacerating hurt that had pierced his well hidden heart when he'd heard Catherine's bitter voice declare to a secretly wired Danny Hunter that her father was dead. Despite the peace they'd subsequently made, the memory held a trace of residual anguish. Noting Jane's distress and acquitting her of malicious intent, he reassured her, "But I understand what you really meant to say."

"Yes, well she would also realise that this could put you in a difficult position, she wouldn't want you compromised. But if she was in danger she'd also know you'd not sit back. That memory stick was her legacy."

Jane ended on an inflection of hopeless inevitability. Yet again Catherine had ignored all the danger signs and lumbered her father with the task of rescuing her. Jane experienced an unanticipated flicker of anger on Harry's behalf. She'd continually chided Graham for failing to accept the consequences of his own decisions. It now occurred to her that Catherine, while a huge improvement on her brother in most respects, should really be exercising a much greater degree of personal caution than was currently in evidence. It was most definitely time that she ceased relying on Daddy to provide the troubleshooting backstop when one of her ventures went awry. While Jane knew that Harry did not begrudge the effort he was no longer a young man, one day he would not be there to help. Catherine needed a reminder that even her seemingly indestructible father was mortal.

As Jane fell silent Harry was considered her interpolation, unconsciously echoing her secret thoughts. "It's quite possible, I've spent nearly thirty years of my life trying to restrain her headstrong rush into places Lucifer would avoid entering. Who approached whom is not, at this stage a matter of huge importance. I'm convinced the basic premise is correct, if only because of those books we found in her flat."

Addressing Jane alone, his eyes alit with quick thrill of comprehension: "Remember I remarked upon the topic, now I know why she was reading them."

Jane flipped her mind back before exclaiming, "Of course, they were on torture of different kinds. Background research."

Harry's eyes met hers with a twisted, mildly amused spark. "Well I'm assuming she wasn't planning to partake in any hands on experiments."

Malcolm threw in some confirmation, contrarily positive in the sense of being almost entirely negative. "With her phone missing I managed to get access to her records. No texts of any importance. Actual calls to the people we'd expect and Jane contacted most of them for us. However there were three calls, all from phones that were reported stolen shortly afterwards, I'd suggest the contact stole them, used them once and then ditched them. Otherwise, she is Harry's daughter – she'd know about dead drops, she's used the post and generally avoided an electronic trail, which in itself suggests she was involved in something dubious."

Calum, his face decorated with an unaccustomed scowl, added his critical mite. "But if she was taking all this trouble surely she'd want to broadcast something more original than this. The English have Punch and Judy, the Yanks have kicking the shit out of everyone on the basis that the US of A knows best. It's their national sport, excluding their version of souped up rounders."

Harry and Jane's stare across the table was far from benign. Erin made a mental note to self that at the earliest opportunity she'd have to give Calum a tutorial in the more advanced facts of life. One of which was that you did not criticise other people's children prior to donning an asbestos suit. At present the best she could do was to intervene sharply with, "And your point is?"

Calum was unabashed. "Everyone knows that the Cousins are behind this sort of thing." Recalling some of what he'd seen he added, "Politically as well as physically. So where's the story?"

Harry had recovered sufficiently to slap him down. "Cover Calum. Torture by proxy is deniable."

Calum might have understood him but Jane looked mystified. Harry seeing her frown remembered that her civilian status meant that she was not fully cognisant with the nuances surrounding the everyday horrors that formed the fabric of his job**. **How he wished he didn't feel obliged to fracture her ignorance.

"Torture by proxy means that a suspect is rendered, or sent to another country. The security and military services of the host country undertake the necessary actions to wring a confession on behalf of the client country." In case she hadn't quite grasped the facts he put it terms she might be able to follow. "Think of it as a form of outsourcing, to a call centre equipped with hot irons and presided over by sadists**.** It means the client country gets the information they need, but can claim clean hands and deniability."

Jane's next statement informed him that his concern for her sensibilities was somewhat misplaced. "That wasn't what puzzled me. I thought that Obama was supposed to have banned rendition." As Harry's brow wrinkled in astonishment she snapped. "Oh don't look so dumbfounded I spent most of our marriage listening to the news to get clues as to what you were up to. No sooner had I got rid of you than I had to worry about Catherine."

He decided to let that last part pass. "Supposed is spot on Jane. These shots show the US military actively, continuously, participating in appalling physical torture, systematic torture that can't be written off as the high spirits of a few out of control squaddies making game of their prisoners, reprehensible as that is. It's proof positive of a deliberate ongoing policy of humiliation and vile abuse that they can't shrug off. Once broadcast to the world this would virtually destroy American moral standing on the international stage."

Harry had made his point, the expressions of the entire team indicated that finally they all understood his theory, and the gravity of what he was implying. With this registered he continued "In addition we have a question of timing. At present it is imperative that the CIA keeps everything under wraps. What I'm about to tell you goes way above your clearances so..."

Pavlov's dogs couldn't have reacted more swiftly as the team chanted in a unity that would have had a choir master weeping with joy, "So we didn't get this from you." At Jane's quirk of puzzled amusement Erin hissed, "It's okay Jane he's always doing this to us."

With the Section Chief's stage whisper over the Section Head continued dryly. "If I have your attention. An agreement is on the table that would basically allow America to demand the extradition of anyone they like on the vaguest suspicion of any activity that threatens world security, ie America's. Those people will have no rights and their government no right to query their treatment. It's Abu Ghraib on the USA mainland. Further to that the extradition requests will be retrospective for the past ten years. The US government is well aware, as are we all, that the current extradition arrangements with America are already one sided and a cause of disquiet. If the contents of that stick were broadcast to the British public this treaty would have to be forced through by the government at the cost of potential political annihilation. Towers is trying to get a stay of execution as I've informed him that our European sister services are unhappy. The Kremlin in particular is threatening to pullout of the recent partnership. Not something the Government will want after all the trouble its signing caused. If Towers is to kick this into touch he needs inarguable proof. Equally the CIA want to ensure that he doesn't get it."

The utterly expressionless tone of Harry's voice as he elided over the words '_Kremlin_' and _'partnership'_ triggered a connection in Jane's mind. The name' _Ilya_' shouted in the darkness of the previous night, it sounded Russian; with a reference to a task they had to do together! Working with the old enemy was something that might well give Harry, veteran of the Cold War, nightmares. Was that partnership linked in some way to whatever was troubling him? If so, how? Hmmm...A little discreet googling might be in order. She recalled reading some early summer news reports discussing this political about turn. Her memory of the exact details was hazy, other than at the time her instant reaction had been to gleefully visualise Harry choking into his whisky. After all his efforts to shaft the Soviets in Berlin he was now being ordered into political bed with them. Loyal as he was to his country he must surely have felt that he was being pimped, a rent boy for the government**. **She had a starting point for investigation, although whatever was bothering him to the degree she'd witnessed in the early hours of the morning was surely went deeper, and was more personal, than a governmental volte face.

The deep hush of shock drew her back into the real time present. When Harry had confided in her the previous evening he'd omitted to mention the retrospective aspect of the proposed treaty. From the appalled reaction of Harry's subordinates she suddenly realised that every person in the room was at risk if the Americans got their way. That didn't exactly surprise her, however nice and normal spies might seem they all had a dark side; you forgot that they were trained killers at your peril. Erin and Dimitri, while oozing an enticing attractiveness would both have murdered, or if you preferred euphemism, executed enemies of the state. Calum's entire manner seemed designed to rile allcomers, while Malcolm the self confessed hacker probably wasn't on the CIA's Christmas card list either. As for Harry, if his personality plait of ruthlessness, workaholic obsession entwined with a broad streak of mischief, had failed to make him flavour of the day, month or decade within his own service, she could only guess at how the CIA would salivate at the prospect of taking him out, with the aim of doing whatever was the next best thing to shooting him - presumably along the lines evidenced by the unseen obscenities imprinted on the memory stick. With a jolt she wondered about her own position. Given the current cover up paranoia of the CIA did being the sole surviving witness to their bomb attempt put her at risk? Had she suddenly been transformed from Jane Townsend, neglected wife of Snuggle Bunny and part time teacher of English Literature into a potential enemy of the world's superpower? And if she was so dangerous why didn't she feel empowered?

Erin having processed the implications was the first to respond as she blurted out, "But in that case why the CIA threat against your life a few weeks ago?" I mean if they knew they'd be able to demand your scalp once this was passed why bother?"

That alarming revelation had instantly put Harry's scalp in more immediate danger from Jane than from the CIA. Jane's head whirling around so quickly it was itself at risk of spinning off. "Harry."

If he'd belonged to the younger generation his response might have been '_Am I bovvered!_' Being nearly sixty with an ingrained formality he snorted in short order, "I'm not taking this seriously Jane, that's why I didn't mention it."

Erin wasn't standing for that dismissive tone, "Towers does."

"Towers takes focus groups seriously and look at the rubbish they come out with. Starting with the one that postulated the idea that the Secret Services should keep the public informed of their activities."

Harry might be taking the opportunity to vent a long felt annoyance but Jane wasn't going to stand, or sit, for being ignored, "I repeat Harry!"

Jane wanted an answer. In Harry's experience she'd nag until she got it. "Very well a few weeks ago we received some newspaper print threats, dropped into Thames House. Just general – but the words used suggested American in origin and the phrases referred to the death of the CIA Director that I was implicated in. I've been forced, on Towers orders, to make sure I'm never on my own off the Grid and have a surveillance team watching my house overnight."

She decided to take him to task for this latest sin of omission in private, they'd already embarrassed the team with public rows, this one could wait. "I can see how that might cramp your style Mr Maverick. But are you really being shadowed? I've not noticed anyone following you."

"Of course not. I trained them." Having made this profoundly modest statement Harry conceded, reluctantly given the number of unnecessary objections previously spouted by his Section Chief, "But Erin's right it doesn't make sense with that treaty hovering in the ether."

Malcolm added, "Neither does your theory entirely." All eyes turned to him, "I accept your construct as far as it goes Harry but it doesn't cover everything. As regards Catherine it can't be the CIA who have her or they'd have located the memory stick before we did. So where is she?"

Harry swallowed nervously before proceeding to reopen what was a very sore subject. "Jane and I checked the notes we retrieved from Catherine's flat. They included a reference to someone who seems to have contacted her claiming to be the son of a friend of mine."

The various faces brightened at this announcement, at long last a tangible clue, and one that Harry could unravel, the end was in sight, only to revert to crestfallen expressions when Harry continued, "Unfortunately I have never to my knowledge met anyone called Gene Seth Vardec, father or son." The slight hrrumph from Jane indicating to the ever alert Malcolm the cause of the recent argument.

Dimitri suggested, "Then the person to trace would be Gene Seth Vardec. I'd bet he was one of the two men." Calum wasn't far behind him in stating the obvious, "Another thought where is the one in the cafe?"

Malcolm was forced to do what he hated, namely admit defeat, "I tried tracing him from the cafe but he just vanished."

Erin postulated, "Any GCHQ Chatter?"

"I can check. Also of course the police log for dead bodies. If he was military and was the owner of the stick I'd assume the Rambo reference referred to him – disturbed soldier returning home ultimately not happy to just obey."

Harry's, the ex-army officer proffered another line of thought, "If he's had survival training he may well be living rough, moving around, avoiding detection. We need him to confirm the evidence trail."

Malcolm computed the idea, "That would match the reference as well and it's possible. If a small city in East Anglia can have immigrants living on a traffic roundabout undetected for weeks, someone could easily disappear in London."

Feeling that recently he'd been snatching at enough straws to have converted The Grid into a haystack Harry added, "Very well, what about the DNA check?"

"Negative on an exact match. I could run a further match for family DNA, spread the net wider."

Dimitri having balanced the various theories spoke, "I'd think that Gene is the man who collected her, the one we thought we recognised. Remember Harry?"

Before Harry could reply a polite hesitant knock on the door interrupted proceedings. Despite a lack of permission a junior officer entered the room, looking around nervously, before relieving herself of her message, "Sorry Sir but the Home Secretary is on the secure line for you. He says it's urgent."

Groaning loudly, "It always is." Harry prised himself from his chair, "Erin allocate the tasks please."

Presented with the opportunity for power Erin arose to the challenge instantaneously, "Malcolm, you and Calum DNA, further combing of the CCTV, stills and additional assessment from the memory stick, anything to find Catherine and scupper that treaty. Dimitri you give Batman his orders, and then, in view of Malcolm and Calum's work load contact GCHQ for chatter. I'll check for assets who live on the streets and contact their handlers." It occurred to her that Jane had been omitted, she wasn't part of the team, but Erin had noted that she objected to being cast as A.N Other. "Err."

Grateful for the recognition Jane solved the problem for her, "Don't worry Erin I'll be gainfully occupied drawing up the list of play extracts for the Reception, a task that sadly includes combing the text for any possible ways in which Gawain could infiltrate boobs, buttocks and blasphemy into the performance. As his mind is positively bizarre that will take sometime to accomplish."

Dimitri in the process of exiting turned back with some sage advice, "Perhaps you should run everything past Calum, he possesses the weirdest mind on The Grid."

Calum wasn't accepting that compliment, defending himself as he pursued his colleague out the door, "And yours is in perfect condition despite frequent oxygen starvation acquired while sitting in a submarine with about twenty other sweaty blokes!" Making Erin utter a mild sigh as she followed on with a dramatic roll of the eyes.

With their exit from the Briefing Room Jane found herself alone with Malcolm. Noticing her looking grave Malcolm enquired, "Are you alright Jane?"

Jane was uncertain as to she should reply. She'd taken a liking to the solemn, oddly old fashioned, courteous Malcolm, but as he was a long standing friend of Harry she had few illusions about the emotion being reciprocated. While she knew that it was highly unlikely that Harry had confided the minutia of their marital breakdown to anyone it hadn't taken long for her to realise that Malcolm had probably worked out much that was unspoken. Haltingly then she said,

"I think so but..." she was trying to find the correct words with which to frame the question she daren't ask Harry. "Malcolm can I ask you something, it's a little delicate so I daren't approach Harry?"

Malcolm really was trying to avoid becoming entangled in the Harry Jane imbroglio, but being handicapped by politeness he found it difficult to reply to her plea in the negative. He tried to temporise with, "I know the pair of you have a difficult history but if this is about Gene Seth Vardec I really think he's telling the truth Jane."

"So do I...now." She gave a small rueful smile, "What I really wanted to ask was, do you really think we've any chance of finding Catherine," with a brief pause she added the crucial word, "alive."

Malcolm, while mentally performing somersaults of relief that she hadn't asked about Ruth or anything pertaining the Albany and Gavrik affairs, considered that this question was nearly as difficult to answer honestly. Malcolm's track record with women might be next to non-existent, but having seen the results of Harry's more robust manoeuvring in that unpredictable arena he felt that a certain wariness towards Jane was fully justified. Macbeth had his ambition, Othello his jealousy, Harry's fatal flaw was an almost pathological loyalty to those he'd once loved, ruthlessly exploited by Juliet and then Elena. Malcolm couldn't avoid the suspicion that Jane might prove to be a bird of similar feather, playing his friend for her own ends, in this case help with her divorce. On balance though he was forced to admit that, despite his reservations concerning her overall motives, her question was fair and sensible. He was therefore struggling to find a truthful answer that was not depressing. Jane mistaking the reason for his uncertainty explained, "If I ask Harry he'll think I'm doubting him – again."

On somewhat surer footing as he remembered Harry's earlier statement about preparing Jane for the worst Malcolm gave an honest reply. "I think the possibility that she's still alive exists, but it recedes the longer she's missing."

He waited for her reaction. Jane was still a virtual stranger and he had no idea how she would respond. Computers when presented with a theory of probability just calculated the odds and pinged, human beings either whooped, got angry or burst into tears, plus Jane was a woman, a gender grouping that was notoriously unpredictable. Fortunately for his equilibrium Jane's sole reaction was to bit her lip before answering, "Thank you Malcolm. I can see how worried Harry is, plus he's trying to spare me as much as he can, but I needed to know."

"I think if you'd asked Harry he would have said the same, but I understand why you didn't want to tackle him directly." Taking a further brave forthright step into the uncertain territory that was Jane Townsend he added, "Harry's had to cope with a great deal of loss over the past years so, Jane I might be speaking out of turn, but..."

Picking up on his lengthening hesitation Jane was straightforward, "So I'd gathered. Is this the please don't hurt him talk?" Seeing his discomfort she went on with emphasis, "Don't worry, such is not my intention, but as you've just said with our history it's difficult."

Nodding as he gathered his papers up Malcolm resisted the temptation to inform her that it was Harry's past history sans Ruth that was his real concern. On his first visit to Harry after Ruth's death he'd discovered him sprawled across the sitting room carpet unshaven, red eyed and rendered semi conscious in a whisky induced stupor. Malcolm's middle aged muscles still ached at the memory of heaving Harry's not inconsiderable bulk onto the sofa. Gradually over the succeeding days, weeks, months, that high water mark of visible grief had receded as an emotionally debilitated Harry fought on, standing lonely and joyless, once again the target on the wall, attempting to take on allcomers inside and outside the service. In his decision to wring some sense out of Ruth's sacrifice he'd been propped up by whisky, work and sheer bloody determination. Malcolm wasn't sure that these supports would suffice in the event of his losing of his maddeningly obstinate, idealistic and deeply loved daughter. You expected your parents to predecease you. It was a fifty fifty chance that your partner, if you had one, would die first. But these days no one expected to bury their children. Even Harry, who dealt with death on a daily basis, might find himself unable to cope with that.

Following Malcolm out of the Briefing Room Jane branched off in search of Harry. Tracking him to his office she knocked on the door. She'd noticed this was a courtesy he insisted on and decided compliance was advisable, particularly when she had to check, after the recent passages between themselves, that she could continue to claim squatter's rights to his spare bedroom. Considering what she'd shouted at him she wouldn't blame him for throwing her out.

She discovered him sitting at his desk with his head, if not exactly in his hands, very near to it, his remaining hair ruffled, hinting that he'd been running his hands through it. Overall he seemed winded, as if someone had just sandbagged him. Alarmed by his appearance she abandoned the topic she'd intended to broach in favour of,"Harry what's happened?"

"The stay of execution, the Home Secretary tells me that unless I can produce some definite evidence implicating the Americans the treaty will be signed next week."

"But you have the evidence so what's the problem?"

Even during the past forty eight hours she'd not seen him look so haunted, so worried, or so defeated. With a voice that enhanced the hollow expression in his eyes he said quietly,

"Jane you don't understand. If I fail to hand this over everyone in the security services is at risk. And if I do I might just be signing our daughter's death warrant."

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. Please review if you have a moment.**_


	32. Chapter 32

**_Thanks to those who read and once again thanks to those you reviewed._**

* * *

_The Grid 5.30pm approx _

As the waves of shock crashed around her Jane was momentarily numbed. Slowly the ripples receded and feeling returned, in the shape of an internal scream. She became aware that Harry's eyes were boring into her. Ah those eyes! When Harry really wanted to make his feelings known speech was an optional extra. Mesmerising, hypnotic, she'd seen them sparkle with mischief, turn stone cold with fury, glare with sarcasm, glaze over with lust. At this precise moment they were questioning, with a hint of wariness as he waited uncertainly for her response. What should it be? Screaming and shouting would be all too easy, loading the blame for the entire grim situation onto him, but would it be fair? She'd glimpsed his helplessness in his despairing posture of a few moments ago, the body language didn't imply dominance, rather it radiated the helplessness of a man caught up in events beyond his control. Previously Harry had exuded an impression of power, his energy resembling that of a renegade rocket. Suddenly she'd become aware of his work place limitations. His job required his effective and immediate reaction to whatever the various evil bastards who plagued the realm threw at him but however successfully he faced down the terrorists and other assorted scum, ultimately he was not proactive. He might influence the outcome of events, presumably on the ethically dubious basis of producing the greatest good for the greatest number, but in any summative analysis he was trapped by circumstances he did not create.

Finding her voice she asked a question remarkable only in its obviousness, "So what did you tell him?"

"That we had something that might prove my case, but my technical staff needed to run checks. As I'm persona non grata at Langley it has to be watertight."

"How long until you have to decide?"

"Nothing will be signed until after the Reception, that's three days away, then we have the weekend, after that..."

On elementary maths three plus two made, "Five days then. Can you find her in that time?"

"I hope so but if we don't..." He couldn't say it, wouldn't say it – the only person he had left to care about – he'd killed Ruth, how could he possibly even consider ... and yet he had to...

Jane's voice cut into his thoughts, her tone worried. "Harry, do you have to be the one to make that call?"

"I'm the boss Jane. It comes with the territory."

"I know that, but in such a personal matter should you be in charge?"

He was grateful for her concern but clearly she hadn't grasped the chain of command.

"I'd have to hand it over to Erin. She'd be forced to make the same decision and then work with me afterwards. I've always preferred to do my own dirty work." He saw the protest forming on her lips as he added for good measure, "I was baptised Henry James Pearce, not Pontius Pilate."

Jane while wanting to applaud his integrity, a quality she'd chosen to ignore for years, was about to argue that the cases weren't exactly similar, for starters Catherine was not a first century renegade Jew preaching a form of passive sedition against the ruling establishments, until she remembered that her daughter's activities bade fair to upset the plans of two governments.

Harry was just thankful that thus far her reaction had been so temperate, on previous form he'd have expected her to lambast him without mercy. As he lifted his eyes she caught his astonishment. Had she really been so awful? But even as she flushed with guilt over her previous crashing misjudgements she found herself unable to comfort him with a lie.

"Harry I couldn't make that decision and I truly don't know how I'll feel about you if you are forced to. I do know though that if it was simply your future safety against Catherine's you'd not hesitate to save her, but it isn't is it, it's the lives of your team and the safety of the country versus hers."

He could see what it was costing her to say this, the voice was calm but the eyes were fearful. Before he could react further Erin burst in, her omission to perform the mandatory knock signalling her distressed state.

Well the latter would never be indicated by her coiffure. Surveying Erin Jane reflected, with a hint of malice, that however agitated she became the Section Chief would be unable to imitate Harry by attempting to tear her hair out. No fingers could easily comb through that lacquered perfection. Dragging her attention away from Erin's superglued crowning glory Jane then experienced a twinge of remorse as she tuned into the cause of Erin's agitation**. **

"It's Rosie, or rather her headmistress. Rosie goes to an afterschool club twice a week. It gives my mother a chance to have time without working around the school timetable." Normally Erin kept all reference to her domestic arrangements off the Grid but tribulation was making her babble in staccato manner. "The bullying I told you about. The culprits also go to the school club. I don't know what happened. Rosie's hit one of them – and really she's not a violent child." The anguish was plain to both observers as she prepared to continue.

She was spared further explanation. For the first time in the day Harry knew exactly where a conversation was going, "So you have to remove her."

"Yes, and see the Head to discuss Rosie's social maladjustment. So I've got..."

Harry cut her off, "Of course Erin, delegate and go."

Jane, forced into the role of eavesdropper, had been following these passages with an ever deepening frown. Taking a deep breath she interrupted, "Sorry but did I hear correctly? You have to remove Rosie from that club forthwith. Then you have to see the Head to discuss the child, giving you the option of either leaving your daughter outside the women's office alone and upset, or have Rosie listen to a potentially acrimonious conversation about her behaviour!

Wrapped in worry and not appreciating the condemnatory tone Erin was short, "I don't have much choice."

Jane forgave her the snappishness, in the same circumstances with a virtual outsider chipping in she'd have done likewise. Her sympathy though was genuine, even when married she'd been condemned to virtual single parentdom, it was lonely life. "Fortunately you do, I'll come with you and sit with Rosie. You can drop me off at Harry's after...err...that is if..." Involvement in the various dramas now being played out within the theatre of Harry's office had pushed Jane's original intention of discovering whether Harry was still willing to give her houseroom down the queue of issues requiring resolution. Perceiving her dilemma Harry put her out of her misery with an order.

"Jane, just settle for the fact that you're staying with me until I'm satisfied that it's safe for you to be on your own."

This statement of intent referred not solely to the machinations of the CIA, it also encompassed the blackmailing activities of the ghastly Robin. Once out of Harry's protective reach Jane might just succumb once again to the line of least resistance. Harry, now presented with an opportunity to rid his family of that pretentious wart, was not going to risk her capitulation. Robin, when presenting as quite the swain, had poisoned their lives for long enough. Now he'd proved himself to be quite the swine Harry saw his way clear to disinfect clan Pearce Townsend, with the added delectable bonus of knowing that the weapons for revenge had been voluntarily presented to him by Jane. The answering glint in Jane's eyes told him that his full meaning had registered.

Erin, preoccupied with her own traumas, missed this minuet of double meaning as she debated with herself as to whether she should accept Jane's offer. The suggestion was undoubtedly practical and she was confident that Jane would deal sympathically with Rosie but she was a stranger and...the decision was made for her by Harry, one of whose pet loathings was dithering. "I'd accept Erin, then if you find yourself patronised by the Demon Headmistress you can set Jane loose on her."

Both women muttered, "Thanks" although the intonation was very different. While Erin gratefully swept out to reallocate her work, Jane was glaring at Harry, "You made me sound like a pitbull."

"Perhaps, but I'd rather be savaged by you any day of the week, you're so much more decorative."

That suggestion opened up vistas Jane preferred not to consider as she switched to a more relevant query. "Have you ever met Erin's daughter? I mean is she a brat or..."

"From what I saw on the one occasion I dropped Erin home, I'd say or. I advised Erin to change schools after Rosie's kidnapping." Looking out across the Grid he saw Erin waiting for Jane, her eyes stabbing meaningfully towards the pods, an indication that her agitation had not dissipated. "You need to go. Erin can explain on the way. I'll see you later."

The dismissal was clear cut. Picking up her handbag currently residing on his sofa Jane moved towards the door with, "'Until later then." And was gone.

* * *

_Harry's House. 8.30pm_

By the time Jane was finally returned to his lair Harry had become seriously worried. Stupid he knew, she was with Erin and what harm could possibly befall her on a visit to a primary school. Engrained habit he supposed, after a life governed by disasters feeling uneasy was his personal default, even if Jane would choke at the suggestion that he was responsible for her**. **His attempt to fool himself that he was fully occupied in preparing a meal was abandoned the instant he heard the sound of car engine drawing up outside. Jane had no need to ring the bell; he'd sprinted to the front door, opening it wide to allow her access, within seconds of her arrival. He was mildly amused, when having hobbled up his steps – unaided, so her ankle was obviously much improved – she cast a not very subtle stare up and down the road, trying to spot the watcher she knew must be there. Her effort was fruitless; Harry, who knew exactly where in the shadows his officer would lurk, refrained from indicating his whereabouts.

Once indoors he raked Jane with a searching glance. She may be in better shape physically but seemed utterly exhausted, her wordlessness adding to the suggestion of weariness. Risking a comment, since in his wide experience no woman thrilled to remarks that suggested she wasn't looking her best, he said, "Slight improvement in the ankle I see. How's the shoulder?"

"Aching, and I think the dressing needs to be changed." Her words were accompanied by her massaging the shoulder, an action that brought forth a grimace of pain.

Knowing that now he had to fulfil his role as first aider in chief Harry tried disguise his inward embarrassment through sounding matter of fact, "So I would expect. Take a shower Jane, get dressed and then call me, I'll change it for you."

So it was that some twenty minutes Jane found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, her shirt and bra strap anchored halfway down her upper arm, struggling not relive too many sensory memories as Harry's fingers ran lightly across her shoulder while he removed the dressing. Her envy of the clinical detachment he obviously felt from yesteryear was in fact misplaced. The gentleness was to avoid hurting her, but what Harry could disguise from Jane he couldn't disguise from himself. Not only was memory running rampant, the scent of her hair, the lingering smoothness from the shower gel on her skin weren't making the present too comfortable either. Mistaking her quick shudder for pain he apologised,

"Sorry I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't. I know you'd never hurt me intentionally."

"Intentions are one thing, what happens is another."

"Misunderstandings happen."

Comments that both knew transcended their immediate business. Finishing as quickly as he could Harry eased down the final strip of tape. Stepping away but not looking at her, in her semi dressed state she was in a vulnerable position and he didn't want her to think he was gawking he muttered, "That should hold, I'll see you downstairs." Having made his excuses he left, leaving Jane wondering why he'd acted as though he'd been stung. Surely he didn't think she'd suspect him of ulterior motives, not when she'd been at considerable pains to make it plain she trusted him not to make intimate advances.

When she finally appeared downstairs, blouse and bra safely secured, she discovered Harry in the sitting room, table set, bottle of red wine open, and a serving dish holding richly fragrant spaghetti bolognaise. Breathing in the hunger inducing aroma her promise of the previous evening returned to her. "Harry, supper I said I'd cook."

Waving a hand to indicate that she should seat herself he dismissed her apology with, "That was before you had to help Erin out, for which aid I'm in your debt. I need her focussed. I assume the situation was resolved." He needed to know this anyway but it was a good ploy – Jane on education would occupy most of the mealtime.

The thin line across her mouth was promising; a diatribe was about to spill forth. He recognised the symptoms; he'd been on the receiving end of many a Jane tsunami.

"How that woman ever became a Headteacher." '_Funny I thought the same about Robin'_. We collected Rosie but as she was happy to sit in a classroom and read Erin asked me to join her in the discussion. After we'd sat through a lecture peppered with such gems as '_the issues had been dealt with in circle time'_ also that '_they like children to deal with issues on their own terms_' followed by _'Rosie was failing to understand that the bullies had confidence problems relating to being cerebrally challenged and were seeking positive affirmation'_ I intervened, it was either that or risk Erin producing her gun. Not that blowing a hole in the woman was a bad idea, but it would also have blown Erin's cover which probably is."

Knowing Jane's temper Harry thought the gun might have been the more humane alternative, so pausing from helping himself to a further mouthful of pasta he asked, "Is the woman still alive?"

"Just about. After quoting various documents at her and suggesting that the '_Every Child Matters'_ guidelines are presumed to encompass the intelligent middle class pupils not just the ones heading for ASBO land, I ended by saying I'd ask my husband the OFSTED inspector if current guidance included positive affirmation at the expense of allowing a child to be abused." She caught sight of his face, "It was a hollow threat. She doesn't know my marriage is on the rocks and I thought Robin might as well be of some use to Erin. As you may recall from last night's confessional he's been no bloody use to me in any capacity recently."

Having just fought down the unbidden memories of his intimate life with Jane, his quick exit downstairs attributable to a growing tension in the underpants department, Harry most definitely didn't want to relive the thoughts of her and Robin. Thankfully Jane was still in full flow.

"I've seconded your advice about changing schools, that's why I was so late – Erin invited me in. Her mother was there. When we described what had taken place she agreed with me... well us. She's been concerned because Rosie likes books, while the school management thinks Google is the only research source she needs to use. I've offered to make some enquires for Erin, see if we can find somewhere that will positively affirm a bright pupil whose social maladjustment seems limited to sticking up for herself."

Having finished her say Jane caught up with her meal. "This is lovely Harry. I'd forgotten what a good cook you are when you put your mind to it."

"Probably because I don't do it very often. It hardly seems worth it for one and when we were married you were...probably still are so much better at it than me."

That figured. In their pre-marital days Harry's chief impetus in honing his cooking skills had been the calculation that a meal cooked in his flat meant closer proximity to the bedroom. With some men she'd have added cheaper as well, but meanness had never been a characteristic of Harry, she'd give him that. Knowing that that was not his current motive she smiled, "Well thanks for thinking it was worth it tonight." Rooting herself firmly back in the present she asked a question very much set in today. "Anything happen after I left the Grid?"

"Not really, other than Malcolm and Calum decided to work through the night. Before you say it I only agreed on the understanding that they take turns to sleep."

"If you hadn't I assume they'd just hack from home. As you've mentioned Malcolm - I don't want to drop a tactless brick so two questions about him. Firstly what did his mother die from, and secondly is he gay?"

Harry in the act of drinking his wine spluttered, where had that come from?"Regarding the first, old age. As for the second, not to my knowledge." What on earth made you ask?"

"Because judging by the cut of his suit he's obviously comfortably off, plus he's polite and well read. Knowing my sex I'd agree with Jane Austen's famously caustic opening, "_It is a truth universally acknowledged' _etc."

Harry couldn't help it, that phrase had triggered the visions that always lurked just below his conscious mind. Ruth reading '_Persuasion' _on the bus the evening their fingers touched, her gentle kiss on that cold dockside as they parted, those whispered words when she made it plain which single man she wanted, and the destruction a few minutes later of his figurative good fortune. Not for him, not for them, the happy ending of lovers walking hand in hand into the sunset, their ending had been one of blood, mess, mourning. The irony, Ruth, who had loved Austen, had died in circumstances more akin to the faux Greek tragedies of Thomas Hardy, an author for whom no coincidence was ever happy**.** Jane in the act of helping herself to some extra spaghetti bolognaise as she finished speaking caught, with shock, the fading expression on Harry's face. Sorrow merging into rigid blankness, smacking of the despair she'd glimpsed earlier when he'd explained his impossible decision. The cause could only be her innocent remark but why? What had she inadvertently said?

Unaware that he'd given himself away Harry recovered sufficiently to reply, "He did have a fairly close relationship with someone called Sarah, but it was before I became Section Head. We only become good friends around the time I was promoted."

If Malcolm was straight Jane's theory re his bachelordom was no less so. "Then I'll bet his mother saw her off."

"I wouldn't know. But that reminds me Jane, I need to ring Graham, get the location of where he first saw Robin doing the dirty on you."

Jane's other questions were becoming more pressing by the day, but she knew better than to try extracting anything relating to the personal from Harry via direct assault. If the shutters came down with Harry, they came down. Nor did she want him reduced to a quivering impotent wreck by ruthlessly hauling whatever he was suppressing out into the light of day – not with Catherine's life on the line anyway. Catherine – that she did need to know.

"Harry, I hate to ruin a good meal but truthfully now you've had time to consider further can you pull off the double of finding Catherine alive and stuffing the CIA?"

"As Shakespeare put it, that is the question."

"And as I'm putting it, that is not an answer."

"We've been successful against worse odds. My team are top class, and before you distracted me with the topic of Malcolm's sex life I meant to tell you that they think they've identified soldier boy. If we can bring him in we may get extra clues, plus tonight's raid might yield something."

Jane wasn't prepared to ask what happened if they didn't progress, she understood the decision Harry would have to make but didn't want to contemplate it. What she was contemplating at this precise moment was a set of sauce smeared dishes. Standing up and balancing the combination of her own plate and a half empty wine glass she said, "Very well we wait upon events. The dishes won't, you cooked so I'll clear and clean, while you attempt a conversation with Graham."

Pots deposited in the kitchen with a rubber gloved Jane preparing to work out any frustrations on his crockery, Harry picked up the telephone, wondering what sort of reception, if any, he'd get from his son.

"Hello Graham. It's Dad – please don't hang up." The phone remained connected – progress of a sort. Perhaps the plea had intrigued his estranged offspring.

If that was so no one would have guessed from the eventual snarl, "I'm wearing your bloody tracker."

"Actually I rang because I need your help."

It was a toss up which intonation dominated, the disbelief or the sarcasm. "The great all might Harry Pearce needs the help of his druggie son. How the mighty are fallen. I told you everything I knew about Catherine's bloke. "

"I know and we're working on it. To accurate Graham I now need your help to help your mother."

"Why? What've you done to her?"

"Promised to help her divorce your stepfather - you know the one you idolised." This last sentence probably wasn't Harry's most sensible remark of the decade, but he could only take so much, even to help Jane.

During a very long pause – he could almost hear the cogs of what passed for Graham's mind grinding through the process of trying to detect some fell motive to his enquiry – he waited impatiently and silently, prudence advising him not to push. Finally, "So what did you want?"

"The location of the hotel, and the approximated date when you saw him and his er..."

"Slapper is the word you're searching for Dad. And don't lecture me about respecting women."

Harry suppressed a snort of laughter. Judging from Jane's description of the hacked video that descriptive noun was literally accurate. As Graham revealed the hotel location, situated in one of the seedier parts of London, Harry couldn't resist a further comment, "Spoiling her wasn't he!"

The miracle happened, Graham dropped the attitude, his own amusement evident down the line, "I'll say. Do I gather that you want to hack the hotel computer for details, because if so you have a problem."

"Which is?"

"Wasn't computerised at the time." The vague air of triumph wafted its way to Harry's ears. Why was that a cause for rejoicing? Damn, never mind they probably had enough anyway. "Sorry to have troubled you then."

His finger on the button was stayed by Graham's next words, "Hang on Dad, don't you want the info?"

"Yes but.."

Then followed a question that was decidedly off piste. Graham, for whom the word downright might have been coined, sounded unusually apprehensive. "Is Mum listening in?"

Puzzled, and surprised they were still communicating, Harry hastened to reassure him, "No she's in the kitchen, Why?"

"Get her to slave for you. Typical." Before Harry could defend himself Graham continued, "I wanted hard evidence to show Mum, and I thought Robin might use the place again so I chatted up the Receptionist and..."

The euphemism alert was clanging into Harry's ear. "By chatted up you mean..."

"Yea, gave her a few glasses of wine and a good fuck. Worked wonders ...I got the necessary through some drunken pillow talk. When she was asleep I crept into Reception and photographed the register. I also discovered that Robin had made an advance booking so I managed to sneak back and got a shot of the pair of them feeling each other up in the doorway."

Not much rendered Harry speechless but Graham had just managed it, effortlessly. To receive way too much information was also a rarity in Harry's life but now he knew why Graham had been so anxious that Jane didn't overhear their conversation, she'd go ballistic, and after treating them both to a feminist rant would have offensively concluded, **'**_like father, like son'. _Harry himself was havering between the twin pillars of proud and appalled. Pride that Graham definitely was his son, going to endless lengths to protect those he loved, even when they eschewed his aid. Appalled because said son was following in precisely those footsteps Harry would have sincerely advised him to avoid. How should he react to the proof that their resemblance was more than skin deep, say '_don't do it'_ when Graham patently had? This whole exchange typified their warped family life, other fathers and sons bonded over football and beer, he and Graham were swapping experiences of shagging and spying, topics that even fairly impolite society would consider off limits**. **His life resembled the fairground Hall of Mirrors, in which the semblance of normality was reflected back to public view in recognisable but increasingly distorted shapes**. **

Vocal cords restored to life he croaked, "So can you..."

Graham finished for him. "Get the evidence to you. I'll send it to Thames House. Just get rid of that second waste of space Mum married. I care about Mum and Catherine - although you can go to Hell."

"Probably my ultimate destination. Thanks Graham. I won't tell you mother how you came by this. Father and son secret."

The sole reply was the sound of silence. Graham had summarily ended the call. Fortuitous timing as Jane emerged from the now tidied kitchen asking, "Everything alright?"

"Yes more or less. He seemed quite pleased to tell me he'd got some evidence about Robin. He's sending it to Thames House.

From the wrinkling of her forehead he predicted that she was going to ask for information he'd no intention of divulging. He'd promised Graham, besides which if he wanted to redecorate the ceiling he'd invest in a chandelier. Hurriedly he gave her the basic digest of the final seconds, "Hates me, cares about you and Catherine, it's progress on just caring for himself."

"He'd never admit to it but I'm sure he was pleased you needed him." At his look of disbelief she sighed, Harry might be a caring father but he'd never understood parenting. "Harry, all he and Catherine have ever wanted from you is approval."

Thank God she hadn't asked for the exact details of what Graham had done to earn the paternal endorsement of '_didn't he do well?_' "So why did they both do things, joins causes, take attitudes guaranteed to annoy me?"

"For someone so bright you really are obtuse at times. It's what children, especially teenagers, do. You disapproved whenever you saw them, so they rebelled even more."

As Jane said it she wondered about the veracity of her remarks. The problems with Graham were deep seated. Harry adored both his children but some indefinable barrier had always seemed to form a road block between himself and Graham. The difficulties with Catherine had never been so acute, although she had been just as irritating teenwise.

Meanwhile Harry was struggling with the bewildering notion that despite his openly expressed contempt Graham might, deep down, want to acknowledge his father. "You think there's hope?"

"So the story of Pandora's box tells us. Heaven knows you've fought the evils of the world long enough to deserve some remission." He seemed to wince a little, her attempt at comfort misplaced. "Sorry I keep upsetting you. It's not deliberate."

"I know and don't mind my sensibilities; they probably resemble coconut matting these days."

"If they did you'd not be so worried about Catherine's fate. And I know something else is eating at you. Can't I help?"

This oblique question was the nearest Jane was ever going to come to directly inviting him to unburden himself.

For the time it took his heart to beat twice he paused, considered the merits of her suggestion, and then passed on the option. Harry Pearce confided in no one. "If you could I'd ask." It wasn't a lie. No one could help.

Jane accepted the dismissal although she was wounded – she'd confided in him, agreed to let him help her so why was he stubbornly refusing to reciprocate? It made the balance between them uneven, worse it left her feeling beholden, taking support, giving none in return. He'd trusted her thus far and even with her sketchy knowledge of his work activities there wasn't much that could shock her, what was preventing him from making that final effort to uncouple himself from a crippling secrecy. If they were ever to repair their relationship to the point of feeling fully comfortable with one another she needed to know, she needed him to trust her as a friend - she needed thinking time. Glancing at her watch she read the hour as being just short of ten pm. Harry wasn't the only one who could make excuses.

"Well you know best. I'm off to bed in that case, it's been a long day and who knows what tomorrow may bring."

"Hopefully our daughter, safe and sound."

"If it does I'll be torn between whether to hug her or shake her."

A comment that elicited no response other than a wry smile followed by a low voiced "Goodnight then."

* * *

Jane had retired to bed making the excuse of tiredness; her real intention to try and cobble together a working theory around the mystery that was Harry. Once snuggled under the luxuriously warm down filled duvet - Harry knew how to keep his guests in comfort - that excuse had turned into a reality as sheer physical exhaustion superseded intellectual pondering. Now she was staring at the clock on the bedside table wondering why she'd woken up at two o'clock in the morning yet again. Remembering the previous evening's adventures she automatically strained her ears, expecting to detect the sound of screams. None were forthcoming, but in the comparative silence she picked out the steady muffled tread of feet pacing backwards and forwards. As the last visages of sleep fled she acquired some sense of place. Downstairs she thought. Dragging herself out of bed, thankful that the ankle had repaired sufficiently to allow her to abandon the support of Harry's stick, she pulled on the silky kimono that did service as her dressing gown and crept as quietly down the staircase as her still wobbly gait allowed. On reaching the bottom tread she noted that the sitting room light was on, although dimmed. Cautiously she entered, her arrival betrayed by the slight squeak of the door. In the centre of the room a barefooted Harry, also clad in dressing gown plus pyjama bottoms, was pacing. Her efforts to be silent having been to no avail he fixed her with a gimlet stare before saying in a mild voice, "Can't get away from you can I."

"I did offer to find a hotel." When no reply was forthcoming she added, "So what's the problem, can't sleep."

"Just about. I keep thinking about Catherine." '_And Ruth, Tarig, Jim, Adam, Ros...Bill, even Lucas, everyone I ever let down' _

"Well wearing yourself to death won't help. Sit down while I do some hot milk." Without waiting to see whether he did as she suggested she headed for the kitchen. It took her about ten minutes to negotiate the workings of his microwave, but when she returned carrying two mugs of milk Harry had taken her advice sufficiently to have plumped down onto the sofa. Thrusting his drink towards him she took the chair.

"Don't say anything Harry, just sit, even if you can't sleep at least you can conserve energy."

And so they sat in a companionable silence, as the warmth of the liquid, and the quiet, and the stillness of the early hours enveloped them... and at five o'clock in the morning Jane awoke with a stiff neck, her foot nudging the mug that had slipped from her fingers when she'd dozed off. Looking across the room she saw that Harry had also finally flaked out. Not only was he sleeping like a baby, with his receding hair line and chubby body he resembled an overgrown one. Her maternal instincts aroused she briefly considered attempting to lift his legs onto the sofa but uncertain that she could cope with his weight, and worried that she would jerk him awake she opted to leave him undisturbed. However despite warmth from the central heating still permeating the air she was feeling slightly chilled. Touching Harry's arm gently she realised the same applied to him. Forcing herself up the staircase, her ankle hadn't improved to the point where motion was pain free, she swiftly stripped the duvet off his bed. With her impaired movement her second downward trip of the night was clumsy but she finally made it back to the sofa where Harry dreamed on, blissfully oblivious to her struggles. Trying very hard not to jolt him she wrapped him up, closed the door and headed back to her own bed. With luck she'd manage another couple of hours sleep.

Limping past Harry's room on her return journey, she realised that she'd forgotten to kill the light. Entering for the express purpose of switching it off she gazed around, taking in the details she'd been too busy to notice a few minutes earlier, quietly savouring her first chance to survey his very private domain, yesterday evening's foray having taken place under the cover of darkness. At a cursory glance the room was much as she'd have anticipated. The furnishings while of good quality were typical of Harry's decor, neutral, uncluttered, minimal. It was therefore with surprise that she spotted, tucked away in the window corner, a small, fully laden, pinewood bookcase. This intrigued her, books in the bedroom, other than the volume currently being read, had been one of their many grounds for argument when married. Knowing she shouldn't snoop, that it was an abuse of his hospitality, like most people when presented with temptation she succumbed. Her scanning of titles held in the small library bewildered her even more. Harry read widely, but the Brontes, Austen!... his preference had been for nonfiction, Shakespeare and assorted poets, rarely, if ever, did he peruse a romance, however classic. And knowing his reading habits she was confronted with a further puzzle; these books looked somewhat battered through use, the creased spines a clue to their having been continually read and reread. They weren't especially significant editions so why...

Pulling out a title at random, her hand had lighted on the copy of '_Persuasion_', she scanned the inside of the cover, gasping as her eyes locked onto the book plate bearing the name:

RUTH EVERSHED.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. If you have an odd moment please review**


	33. Chapter 33

**_Many thanks to all who read and to those who took the trouble to review. _**

**_I realise that I've taken a few minor liberties with canon as presented in the diary but so did the entire Series 10. _**

* * *

_Harry's House . Approx 5.00 am_

Harry's secret now had a name.

_Ruth Evershed. Ruth Evershed. Ruth Evershed_.

Or did it?

_Ruth Evershed. Ruth Evershed._

It reverberated like a claxon through her brain.

_Ruth Evershed. Ruth Evershed, Ruth Evershed._

Temporarily insulated from the world outside, her head enclosed within a bubble of speculation she continued to stare, hypnotised by the plate proclaiming the book's provenance, as the name beat its rhythmic tattoo.

_Ruth Evershed, Ruth Evershed _

Was this unknown Ruth really the owner past or present of every one of these books or was the name simply a random oddity? Did the remaining volumes all carry the same identification? Even as Jane considered this possiblity her native commonsense resurfaced to tell her she was being stupid, these books were not Harry's preferred choice of reading so their significance must lie in the ownership. Her internal dialogue informed her that there was only one way to answer that self posed question.

Kneeling down in front of the bookcase of revelation Jane carefully slotted the volume she was still clutching back into its previously alloted space. Then, just as gingerly, she removed the book it had nestled against, opened it up and checked the inside cover for evidence. Slowly, she repeated the process, handling the publications gently as she examined them one by one, ensuring that as she worked her way along the contents of the three shelves the replaced titles looked undisturbed. Thankfully, due to Harry's good housekeeping, no tell tale streaks of disturbed dust would betray her interference with the contents.

Hauling herself off her now her aching knees Jane flopped wearily onto Harry's bed as she tried to make logical connections between the name and the various scattered hints she'd mentally filed away during the past forty eight hours. Lightheaded through tiredness her first thoughts merged into a variation on the earlier Jane style rap.

_Ruth Evershed, Ruth Evershed – had she ever shared this bed? _

It was a reasonable assumption, otherwise why where these books in Harry's bedroom? Knowing his habits of old it was scarcely credible that he'd been celibate for any substantial length of time during the last quarter century. So Ruth Evershed, who was she? More particularly what was she to Harry? Until five minutes ago Jane had thought, foolishly, that having once obtained a name her curiosity would rest satisfied? Now she knew that belief to have been a chimera. The discovery had merely intensified her fever of speculation. In her mind she saw a ghost stalking Harry, a vague indeterminate shadow in female form giving rise to a myriad of questions. Short or tall? Blonde, brunette or redhead? And crucially what on earth had this Ruth done to affect Harry so deeply? In those odd unguarded moments, before he snapped his stonewalling mask back into place, Jane had never before seen such deep yearning mixed with paralysing sorrow etched upon the face of this most secretive of men. Her disconnected thoughts were swirling around in an emotional whirlpool of sorrow and pity for him, combined with fury that she'd been reduced to snooping. Most surprisingly, and even horrifically, she was experiencing a touch of envy! Had she ever made Harry feel or look that way?

Preferring to stamp down such a ridiculous emotion she sought solace in trying to approach the situation as if it were an academic research problem.

First stage – define the terms of reference. That was simple, _"Who was Ruth Evershed and what was her connection to Harry?_'

Next stage, _'What did she already know?_' Head in her hands she began to think, trying to apply the intellectual clarity she would demand from the more gifted of her pupils, as she set up her mental bullet points of deduction.

a) Recalling Erin's mentioned and then hastily truncation of a name two days ago Ruth had been a member of Grid staff.

b) If Erin had known her as an equal and the woman had been near enough to report that Harry had held back on a 'kill order' then she must have been a senior officer.

c) Tentatively then Jane could identify the elusive Ruth with female analyst who'd moved to the Home Office. As Harry himself had admitted that he was trying to replace her and with Erin being a comparative newcomer to the Grid the transfer must have been a recent occurrence.

Beyond that the puzzle remained, with the key mystery still unresolved. Why were these books in Harry's bedroom? Well cared for but almost certainly not read. And the crunch question, where was Ruth Evershed now? Still lurking in the Home Office? Had she deliberately distanced herself after abandoning a relationship with Harry? Was she cut from the same cloth as the utterly vile but very sexy Juliet, using him to achieve her ends, in this case a promotion, and then callously rejecting all further ties? But if that was so Harry would hardly be preserving her books as memento of his folly! If Harry had been in the throes of an intense relationship Catherine hadn't said anything. There again had Catherine asked? Harry could quite easily have kept his private life hidden from his daughter, he probably had. While Jane hadn't encouraged Catherine to pass on information concerning her despised ex-husband she did recall her daughter's plaintive complaint that contact with her father had become virtually non- existent during the past few months – was this why - Harry and a blossoming love life that had suddenly turned sour? Jane response to her daughter's words had been that such behaviour was typical of Harry, continually blowing hot and cold where his family was concerned. But still that central conundrum stood; proud, stubborn and without adequate answer. If the love affair had run into the sand why was he keeping Ruth's books? Had she walked, leaving him wallowing in misery like a lovesick puppy hoping for her return unless...?

_Ruth Evershed, Ruth Evershed, is she alive or is she dead? _

Jane wouldn't care to guess. If Harry had simply been dumped his reaction seemed a little excessive**.** If he lived an ordinary life she'd have assumed he was in deep mourning, he seemed so utterly bereft ... but... Jane also knew that when spooks were lost they hadn't necessarily departed from this life, but instead may have vanished without trace into a new one. A thought that sent her memory winging backwards to relive that nightmarish evening, a night of horror that had occurred towards the end of Harry's German based secondment to Six.

Harry and an American agent arriving on the doorstep.

Harry hastily dragging her into the sitting room while the tall, quiet American, addressed by Harry as Jim, had waited in the hallway.

Harry handing her an envelope containing false passports for herself and Catherine.

Harry hurriedly giving her a call sign with the instruction that if she wasn't contacted within the next forty eight hours by himself or Jim to follow the emergency instructions in the envelope. That was an order.

Harry leaning over the Moses basket containing Catherine, asleep, and therefore so mercifully oblivious to the drama that she didn't even stir as he kissed her.

Harry, even while she was trying to comprehend the enormity of all this, giving her a quick hug accompanied by a murmured '_I love you'_ before vanishing with his companion into the menacing dark of the midnight hour.

She'd never really discovered what had precipitated the flurry of activity that had so nearly sent her into exile. When Harry been decanted back over the threshold within the allotted timescale, sporting a technicolour eye, and wincing with the pain produced care of three cracked ribs, she hadn't asked. The grim agonised expression on his face and total silence was sufficient to make her deduce that not only was he not going to explain, but also that she didn't really want to know. Nelson had been possessed of twenty twenty vision in comparison to what she'd blind eyed during their marriage. Instead she'd tended to his wounds, concealing her banked up terror, for him as much as for herself, through her subsequent scathing objection to the notion of spending the rest of her life secreted under the moniker of Prunella Albright.

'_Really Harry; and what on earth possessed you to pick Pollyanna for our daughter. Even including Little Lord Fauntleroy that girl with her Glad Game has got to be the most irritating character ever to grace children's literature.'_

"_Just be glad then that you don't have to go through life with the nickname Prune."_

With memories of that nature speculation on the vanishing of Ruth Evershed was unwise. Nor did Jane believe that Ruth's unknown fate, whatever it was, was the sole cause of Harry's desolation. She'd seen him cast down, depressed, wracked with guilt over the murder of his close friend Bill. He was used to grief and loss, anyone in his job had to become hardened to the anguish of death, although Jane knew the struggle he'd had to come to terms with this in his distant youth. Whatever underlay the unyielding remorse currently afflicting him was different. Possibly years in post, the endless attrition rate, survivor guilt, whatever, had finally ground him down, but somehow she couldn't quite shake the feeling that the undisclosed, unrevealed background to his sorrow was more complicated, otherwise where had the old Harry gone? She'd been granted a glimpse of the charming, mischief driven joker of yesteryear re-emerging within their brief rounds of verbal sparring; otherwise his personal default mode seemed locked into the permanently morose. Earlier in the day she'd become convinced that whatever was troubling Harry was also tied up with the Russian partnership. She recalled the name Ilya and the agonised nightmare cry referring to something they had to do – smuggle Ruth away from some disaster? Or had the attempt proved been fatal? And where did the dead CIA Deputy Director fit in**? **That must have been a recent happening to have left the shadow of extradition hanging over him, not to mention those other, more primitive threats of revenge. She'd yelled in the hospital that he was like a boomerang that kept winging its destructive way back into her life. Courtesy of their daughter the entire package of guilt, mystery, murder – in short all the horrors she'd walked away from - had returned into her life in full destructive force.

Recognising with disgust that she was rambling around a circular maze with no discernible centre, while simultaneously tying herself into enough knots to make a Girl Guide preen, she pulled herself back into the world of firm investigative principles.

Next stage, '_What do I need to find out?_' That one was easy, the truth! The real truth; the entire truth; not the spook variety that Harry habitually fed to the world. Not so simple then.

Final stage, '_What do I need to access to fill the gaps?_'

Upon consideration of the practicalities Jane sardonically reflected that this system of research obviously hadn't been road tested by anyone in close contact with the twisted world of spying. When it came to handing out information on anything, let alone spilling the beans on their boss's mental state, Harry's team would be as tight and protective as a miser's purse**. ** Despite this she briefly considered approaching Malcolm, but instantly rejected the idea. He was Harry's friend, and unless she was mistaken, regarded her with a degree of justified wariness. How did he know he could trust her not to gloat over Harry's misfortunes? Unless she'd misinterpreted earlier disclosures Harry had suffered sundry betrayals within recent memory. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't deliberately set out to deprive Harry of what even she, the uncaring ex, recognised was a desperately needed confidante who could be trusted to keep his mouth firmly zipped. There was of course the obvious alternative swinging across her brain in neon lighting. ASK HARRY.

The logical Jane, who was striving to keep the emotional Jane in check, could see that going well. _'Harry who is Ruth Evershed and why are her books in your bedroom?_' As she even considered that outside possibility her blood began to curdle. If Harry ever found out that she'd been snooping around his bedroom...

What excuse could she reasonably give? None. Even worse the resulting row would end with her reminding him that she knew exactly what it was like to be spied upon. She could still recall the sheer force of her fury when she'd discovered that believing her to be in the throes of an affair with Robin Harry had taken typical spook steps to confirm his suspicions. Considering his various strayings from the path of matrimonial righteousness the utter steaming hypocrisy of his actions had temporarily robbed her of speech. Once her vocal records were restored to full life she'd lost little time in disabusing him of the theory that giving Robin a broken nose was proof of his, Harry's devotion, to her. Parts of that show down, the defining moment when she finally gave up on their marriage, remained burnt into her brain.

"_How dare you spy on me, your own wife!"_

"_Maybe was tonight was innocent but you're not fooling me Jane. You've been making an idiot of yourself for months burbling on to all our friends about how gorgeous and talented that smarmy prat is."_

"_The only foolish thing I've ever done was marry you, a man who lied on our wedding day and every day of our marriage since. Love's young dream be damned. I married a nightmare. You're never here, you leave me to bring up the children, and when I complain you patronisingly tell me I don't understand your job. I only work to bring in some extra money and keep my sanity, and now you've just humiliated me in front of my boss."_

"_That's rich when for months you've embarrassed yourself and me twittering to everyone, 'oh Robin he's so brilliant, such an understanding man. He really knows how to make everyone feel special'. Why women never see through that type of brill creamed chancer defeats me, but don't expect me to stand to one side and ignore my wife dropping her knickers for him."_

"_Well you'd know all about knickers thudding to the floor wouldn't you – the man who thinks monogamy is something you make furniture out of. How do you think I've felt for years, while you were bonking your boss and God knows how many others, expecting me to play the good little wife at home__. And you're only back here for a couple of nights before you're off again. Well I've had it, I'm taking the children to my mother's and when I get back I expect you out of here."_

"_Don't be so hasty, think about the childre_n. _And __Jane this assignment is vital, regnum defende at all costs_'."

"'_Well fine, defend the bloody realm if you must, but pay the costs yourself because I can't any longer. And how dare you accuse me of not thinking about the children. __I am, and they're not living in this poisonous atmosphere for a minute longer. My solicitor will be in touch. Don't try to stop me. I hate what you've done to us. I don't want you near me or my children."_

With that she'd stormed out, slamming of the door physically on Harry and symbolically on their marriage. Her fury compounded by, to paraphrase the words of Joseph Surface, her consciousness of her own innocence. Or at least, in view of Harry's dismal record of fidelity, absence of, she honestly didn't think that two quick fumbles in a deserted staff room counted in the overall balance of who was doing what with whom. Time of course had demonstrated that unfortunately she'd literally fallen for Joseph Surface aka Robin Tindal aka Snuggle Bunny. Even so, the fact that Harry's character assassination of the smarmy lying turd had proved to be well grounded did not, in her opinion, excuse his behaviour**. **If she felt this way then could she reasonably expect Harry, if he discovered her snooping, to take the view that her curiosity was excusable? She inclined to think not.

Her remaining option? She now had a name and some working theories, she could simply not mention the matter while trying quietly and secretly to discover the truth. Could she do it? Of course she could. She wasn't exactly an amateur in the art of concealment. Perhaps she'd obtained more than two children from her marriage to Harry. Had he, without her realising, managed to sprinkle her with spy dust. Robin still didn't know that she'd sussed him. He'd preferred to attribute her moods to the vagaries of the menopause and she certainly hadn't felt any obligation to enlighten him. Fooling Harry was, admittedly, a tougher proposition, spying on a spy, and one of the best in the business at that, but she felt a certain wicked excitement at the thought of turning the tables. Was this the drug that had kept Harry in bondage to the realm?

Any further speculations were halted abruptly as she suddenly stirred from her reverie, aware that she'd missed Harry's now awakened stealthy tread upon the stairs. Even if her ankle had allowed for a quick exit it was too late to vacate his bedroom. She'd been caught out. Nemesis was upon her. Glancing at the clock she realised she'd left him downstairs half an hour ago. Jumping up she leant over the bed, taking position a split second before Harry appeared in the doorway, arms full of duvet and face full of bemusement.

Harry entering the room saw Jane, her body draped by the fluid lines of the blue kimono, occupied in the innocent activity of smoothing over his bedsheets. Aware of his presence she turned around, saying in a voice infused with genuine regret.

"Oh dear Harry, I thought you'd sleep for longer than five minutes after I tucked you up. I was just straightening your bed before returning to my own."

Jane's quickly volunteered explanation of her reason for invading his room sounded a trifle forced, just a little too hurried, nerves possibly but why? Straightforward embarrassment at being found in his bedroom or... Harry gave no indication of his suspicions, although the very quick dart of his eyes towards the bookcase, which Jane would have missed it had she not been looking for it, confirmed her view that if he'd caught her snooping... as she attempted to breathe normally her heart was thudding, had she deceived him? His face gave nothing away, was he preparing to pounce?

If Harry had been inclined to ask any searching questions they were stayed by the ringing of his landline. Anxiously snatching the phone from its cradle on the bedside table he mouthed 'The Grid' to Jane before speaking,

"No Malcolm it's fine. Good, can you send a car, Normally I'd drive myself but thanks to Tower's instructions I'm grounded."

Turning back to Jane who was looking at him expectantly he indulged her with a one word answer, "Malcolm."

"So I'd gathered, but why are we going to the Grid."

"We aren't, I am. They've managed to track down our friend the soldier and have sent out a team to collect him. Also Malcolm thinks he's found something on the memory stick files that will definitely ruin the CIA's Thanksgiving holiday."

"Isn't that a few weeks away?"

"Don't be so pedantic, Miss. "Seeing her scowl he smiled before amending his statement, "Alright then, spoil their Halloween. They'll not forget this response to trick or treat. They tried the tricks. I get the treat of thwarting them."

"Fine but it concerns our daughter so I'm coming with you – don't argue."

"Would I dare? But please get dressed. The sight of you in that kimono is something of showstopper." Aware that he may have had an appreciative gleam in his eyes as he said it, - he'd have had to be blind not to notice that Jane's choice of nightwear emphasised her still slim but curvaeous figure -and anxious to avoid any potential misinterpretation, he added, "And before you accuse me of anything inappropriate that's just..."

"I know...your eternal mantra...it's just an observation."

Turning away, hoping that she'd disguised her relief at managing her subterfuge, Jane departed the room accompanied by the ringing of her own mantra.

_Ruth Evershed, Ruth Evershed – what's going on in Harry's head. _

* * *

**_For those who were wondering Joseph Surface is a hypocritical character who features in Sheridan's 'School for Scandal'. Otherwise thanks for reading and if you have a moment please review. _**


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